


Dust in the Road

by MistakenMagic



Series: Obstacles!Verse [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Illness, More comfort than hurt in this one, PTSD Bilbo, PTSD Thorin, Panic Attacks, Past Suicide Attempt, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Service Dogs, and a fem!Fili in a pear tree, no really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:59:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 115,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8068969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistakenMagic/pseuds/MistakenMagic
Summary: The not-so-long-awaited sequel to 'A Remover of Obstacles'. A collection of one-shots exploring Thorin and Bilbo's lives after their 'Eventual Happy Ending', with a few missing scenes from the original story thrown in!





	1. April, 2015

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I lasted a grand total of five weeks before returning to this ‘verse and our boys, no surprises there…
> 
> Now, if you’re just joining us, I’m afraid ‘Dust in the Road’ isn’t really a stand-alone fic, and to avoid much confusion, I really do suggest you check out ‘A Remover of Obstacles’ first. 
> 
> This first chapter is set two months after Bilbo’s discharge and as DrBDamned and Trelane83 asked for some fluff and Chris asked for some Durin Family shenanigans, this is pretty much 11,000 words of domestic Bagginshield. 
> 
> Now, it appears the curtain is rising, are we all ready for Act Two…? 
> 
> Warning: This chapter features some elements of depersonalisation.

_“Hello and good morning if you’re just joining us… This is BBC Radio Leeds… It’s just gone seven-thirty and now we’re heading over to Richard Townsend with today’s weather report…”_

Thorin lay there for a few moments in the soft, grey light, listening to the upbeat jingle that signalled the station’s transition to the weather report. Richard Townsend had only just begun discussing the possibility of showers when Thorin reached out, groping quite blindly at the bedside table until he found the button that returned the room to a comforting early morning silence: a silence which was broken only by the distant twittering of the birds in the bushes of the courtyard.

Bilbo hadn’t stirred as Thorin rolled away from him and he was still lying on his side, back to him, facing towards the bedroom’s large, curtained window. Neither Thorin nor Bilbo could cope with the shrill, urgent tones of a generic alarm and so, each morning, they were woken instead by the broad Yorkshire vowels of BBC Radio Leeds’ presenters… or rather, Thorin was. Since leaving the hospital, Bilbo’s sleeping habits had settled and he was finally able to sleep-in later than the crack of dawn. His sleep had also become deeper and heavier as he willingly surrendered himself to dreams, which seemed, for the most part, to have lost their danger and their darkness.

This morning was yet another morning where Bilbo hadn’t been woken by the radio and so Thorin very carefully turned onto his side and shuffled over towards Bilbo’s back. He didn’t have to shuffle very far: he and Bilbo both seemed quite baffled by the size of the room’s double bed, and so they still slept in the same tight proximity as they had done whilst Bilbo was at Ered Luin. Even if they did fall asleep apart from each other, they always woke the next morning with their limbs tangled together, having unconsciously sought out the other’s warmth during the night.

Nowadays, Bilbo no longer lurched bolt upright when woken, but there were still a few unpleasant moments to push through before his mind righted itself and registered the surroundings. Thorin slid a reassuring arm over Bilbo’s waist and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his neck, the soft curls tickling his nose.

“Good morning,” he said, voice low, but still loud enough to rouse the man in his arms.

The last syllable had barely left Thorin’s lips before Bilbo was dragging in a sharp breath. His body grew rigid in Thorin’s arms and with his chest to Bilbo’s back, he could feel the younger man’s heart pounding against his ribs. Remaining perfectly still, Thorin continued to hold him, mumbling soothing words until Bilbo’s tensed muscles became warm and limp again, his heartrate slowing to a steady plod, as he relaxed back into the embrace.

Thorin never minded waking Bilbo, but he had to admit he preferred doing it like this: curled around his back and pressing kisses into his neck. The days when he had to see the look of terror in Bilbo’s wide eyes as he held him were not his favourite. But he knew this was still a momentous improvement from Bilbo’s earlier days in Ered Luin. They were getting there, slowly but surely, they were.

They lay there together for a long time, Thorin indulging, quite shamelessly, in the intimacy of it all. When he was staying at Bilbo’s flat – which, admittedly, had been almost every night for the past two months – he was only a ten minute walk away from the AFCO in the city centre. With the absence of a morning commute, he set the alarm later and let himself have a few extra minutes in bed with his boyfriend.

His hand settled over the pleasing pouch of Bilbo’s stomach and Bilbo’s fingers slipped between his, happy to hold his hand there. Thanks to Bilbo’s fully-expected competence in his new kitchen, they had both managed to gain a healthy amount of weight since his discharge. Thorin, however, was still careful to stick to his new fitness regime. When autumn came, Lieutenant-Colonel Whitetree would be expecting his application to a post at AFC Harrogate, and he needed to be ready. He’d finally signed up to a gym not far from Bilbo’s flat that had a few Ered Luin alums amongst its regular members. He and Graham had also been on a few runs with Florence and Dain through various parks. They didn’t talk about the fact that they were ready to call it quits long before their respective assistance dogs had broken a canine sweat.

Reluctantly stirring from their embrace, Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s fingers and kissed his shoulder. “I’m going to have a shower,” he murmured, receiving a low hum in reply.

It was with rather telling difficulty that he managed to extract his hand from Bilbo’s, but Thorin eventually managed to pull himself away, tucking the thick duvet back around Bilbo’s shoulders. Staggering to his feet, he found both Sting and Dain staring at him expectantly. They had been curled together, heads resting on each other’s backs, and in the half-light of the bedroom, their yellow and brown fur made them appear like a living symbol of Yin and Yang. When Bilbo had first been discharged, they had bought separate beds for Sting and Dain, but after one too many mornings waking to find the dogs snuggled up together in one bed, limbs spilling out onto the carpet, they had decided to simply purchase a larger bed.

“Morning, Mister,” Thorin grinned, giving Dain’s ears a good scratch as the chocolate Labrador licked at his wrists.

Sting had lifted his head and was staring over towards the soft and unmoving mountain range of covers that marked Bilbo’s presence in the bed, but Thorin knew he wouldn’t move until he had reason to or he was called.

“He’s just coming round,” Thorin said quietly, giving Sting’s head a stroke. As much as the dogs got on, Sting always seemed to Thorin to be the more solemn of the two, his movements ever careful, never frantic, but Thorin knew that the Golden Retriever was doing a sterling job of helping Bilbo navigate his reintegration.

After giving both dogs another approving pat, Thorin stepped into the en-suite bathroom. Leaving the door purposefully ajar, he flicked on the light, careful to avoid the dangling red cord that would alert Shire Oak Court’s warden. Fili had been the first to accidentally pull it and Lee, the rather young and rather attractive warden, had skidded into the flat only moments later, red-faced but ready to spring into action. He didn’t seem to mind the false alarm when he was introduced to the person who had triggered it… Bilbo had quietly taken Thorin’s arm and told him to put his shot-gun away.

Thorin pulled his pyjama top over his head and slipped out of his bottoms, dumping both in the large wicker laundry basket by the sink. He then turned to the bath. A silver showerhead hung over it, like in the bathroom back in Chapel Allerton, and he carefully adjusted the taps before stepping in and flicking on the shower. The water was warm and a very welcome contrast to the chill in the white-tiled bathroom on that April morning. Thorin stretched and rolled his shoulders, letting the water cascade down over his neck and back, watching the little rivulets spread over his arms and legs like veins.

Wiggling his toes against the rubber of the in-shower mat, he thought again of how he might broach the subject of him and Bilbo sharing a shower one night… either before or after, well, _something else_. It was easiest to say that, after everything that had happened whilst he was MIA, Bilbo had a love-hate relationship with showering. He generally tried to shower every other day. On good days, there would be no issue, but on bad days he would sort himself out with his version of a blanket-bath. Some days he let Thorin help him. Some days he simply couldn’t wash at all. But those days always passed.

Bilbo never had a bath. Thorin guessed this might be because of the depth and static lay of the water. He liked having hot, deep baths, especially after he’d been out running or a particularly gruelling day at the AFCO. At first he’d made sure to warn Bilbo before he disappeared into the bathroom and Bilbo had always stayed away. That was until one evening when he had slipped into the bathroom and sat down against the bath.

Thorin hadn’t commented and they had simply discussed their days, both growing sleepy from the warm, steamy fumes, and almost ended up nodding off with their heads together. From that point on, Bilbo’s visits became more frequent and he would dangle a tentative hand into the water. He explained that Dr. Grey thought this was a good approach: helping him to associate bathing with something positive, otherwise known as a naked boyfriend. And so Bilbo’s fingers had continued to trail in the water, making waves against Thorin’s skin… and sometimes they trailed over something else as well. Thorin said Dr. Grey would call that progress. 

Forcing himself to actually do something productive in the shower, Thorin turned and reached for his shampoo. He washed his hair and then made sure to wash himself with a generous amount of Bilbo’s shower gel. Bilbo seemed to like the smell of it and Thorin just enjoyed smelling like Bilbo. After allowing himself a few more minutes of what Bilbo would probably call ‘brooding’, he turned off the taps and carefully stepped out onto the fuzzy blue bathmat. Wrapping a thick, white bath sheet around his waist, he towel-dried his hair in front of the foggy mirror above the sink.

He reappeared in the bedroom with a rather dramatic burst of steamy air and found Bilbo still in bed, but now snugly sandwiched between two assistance dogs. Sting was curled up against Bilbo’s front, one of Bilbo’s arms draped over him, and Dain was lying parallel to Bilbo’s back. At the sight of Thorin, Dain lifted his head, tail thumping against the sheets as he shuffled towards the edge of the bed.

“Did Bilbo let you up onto the bed?” he cooed, scratching under Dain’s chin. “Aren’t you a lucky boy?”

Bilbo stirred then, half a smile appearing as he turned his face from the pillow. “I like sharing my bed with warm, hairy things,” he mumbled.

Thorin sat down on the end of the bed, patting the lump of covers that housed Bilbo’s legs. “And just how far does that analogy extend?”

Bilbo seemed to think for a moment before answering: “Well, you’re both ridiculously loyal… you both make people stop in the street… you both like to lick me…”

Thorin choked, cursing as a blush crept into his cheeks, and Bilbo only grinned. “I… I’m going to get dressed,” he said, voice still a little strained as he rose from the bed.

Bilbo pushed his face into the thick fur around Sting’s neck, apparently settling down again, and so Thorin moved across the room to the large oak wardrobe that Bilbo had lovingly christened ‘Narnia’. Pulling out his uniform, he hung it on the wardrobe before turning to the chest of drawers. His clothes were currently split between Bilbo’s flat and Dis’ house, and his boyfriend had very generously given him a whole drawer to himself. Bilbo’s ‘reintegration wardrobe’ seemed to have expanded at an alarming rate recently, which was definitely Fili’s doing. Bilbo only commented that he needed to make up for over three years of not wearing trousers, and Thorin couldn’t argue with that.

It was when he was pulling some underwear and pair of socks from the drawer that he realised he was being watched. Slowly turning, he found Bilbo, Sting, and Dain looking over from the bed.

Bilbo, who was now lying on his back, arms folded beneath his head, gave him a lazy smile. “I’m waiting for you to drop your towel,” he explained.

Thorin huffed, frustrated but also strangely pleased that after a year Bilbo could still make him blush like this. He knew Bilbo had watched him getting dressed before, but this seemed a little different, now that the fact was being explicitly acknowledged. He’d made a spectacle of getting undressed, quite a few times in fact, but now he couldn’t really see what Bilbo might find appealing about watching him put his clothes _back on_.

“You look beautiful in this light,” Bilbo said, tone quiet, almost reverent, and fuzzy feelings of fondness bloomed instantly within Thorin’s chest.

“You do too, you know,” came his whispered reply, and then, with a melodramatic sigh he had learnt from Bilbo, Thorin decided to make quite the show of sliding his hand down his abdomen before loosening the knot of towel at his waist. The bath sheet slowly slid to the floor and Thorin stepped out of it, turning back to the top drawer and giving Bilbo a clear view of his naked arse.

What followed were a few minutes of smirks and hushed innuendos as Thorin donned each piece of his uniform. They both seemed to be revelling in the fact that this simple act of teasing and dressing was going to be interrupted by no one, that the morning routine belonged to them alone, safe as they were in the microcosm of Bilbo’s flat, their own little intimate world that they were still building together.

Moving back over to the bed, Thorin let Bilbo reach up and adjust his beret. No words needed to be spoken for Thorin to lean down and press his mouth to Bilbo’s bottom lip. Sting had had the sense to move away and curl up by Bilbo’s feet and so there was no Golden Retriever between them to make this morning kiss any more difficult than it needed to be. Thorin kept a finger hooked under Bilbo’s chin as he deepened the kiss and Bilbo’s own fingers trailed over his bearded jaw.

After a few lazy kisses, Thorin pulled away, nudging his nose against Bilbo’s. “I love you,” he said quietly, with an almost shy smile. This was another part of the daily routine, a kind of ritual affirmation, and Thorin would never get tired of it. Months ago, James had told him that this was how he and Linda faced the days, and it seemed like a very good way to start.

“Love you too,” Bilbo said, although it seemed to be wrapped around a yawn. He settled back down into his pillows.

“I’ll make breakfast,” Thorin said, hand brushing his shoulder. “Coffee and toast sound good?”

Bilbo hummed an affirmative and so Thorin, with Dain jumping from the bed and coming to his side, moved out of the bedroom and into the living room. Sunlight was spilling across the wooden floorboards through the terrace doors and Thorin couldn’t help but go over and peer out at the row of plant pots set out in front of the painted iron railings. Sam’s seeds had begun to sprout a few weeks ago and a smile appeared on Thorin’s lips as his eyes moved over the curling, green shoots breaking up through the soil.

Heading over to the open plan kitchen, he collected two mugs from the cupboard and set them in front of Bilbo’s new coffee machine. Thorin’s own machine back in Chapel Allerton had only grown more irritable in recent months, spitting boiling foam as it begrudgingly produced a stream of coffee, making Thorin’s usual breakfast routine seem more like wrestling a dragon than anything else. Yes, he was quite glad Bilbo’s machine had no such temper… Come to think of it, Thorin couldn’t remember the last time he had used the draconian coffee machine. Perhaps it was last Tuesday? Or maybe the Tuesday before that?

Thoughts idling, he dropped two slices of bread into the toaster and then went in search of butter, marmalade, and Marmite. He and Bilbo had finally found something to properly disagree on when it came to Marmite. Thorin was quite firmly in the ‘hate’ camp, thinking the sticky substance tasted horrible and burned his mouth. He suspected this was why Bilbo enjoyed letting him make his toast, as if it were a form of punishment for his contrary views. However, Bilbo had made the toast for a few weeks after Thorin blackened a slice and set off the flat’s smoke alarm. A standard smoke alarm, with its shrieking, constant pitch would have been a literal nightmare for Bilbo, and so Lee had fitted an alarm that was traditionally used by the deaf and hard-of-hearing. The alarm emitted a series of strobe lights which, although they came as a shock, were triggering for neither Thorin nor Bilbo and there was a vibration pad placed under Bilbo’s pillow for if the alarm went off during the night. Thorin didn’t think he had sworn so much in his life when the strobe lights started and Bilbo had come bounding in from the bedroom. Suffice to say, he was now very careful when he prepared breakfast.

Trying not to wrinkle his nose as he swirled Marmite with the butter on Bilbo’s toast, Thorin cut the slice into neat triangles before depositing the knife into the sink. More often than not, Bilbo would appear whilst he was making breakfast and they would eat together at the small table in the corner of the living room. Today, however, Bilbo seemed to be after a lie-in and Thorin didn’t begrudge him that. Yesterday had been busy for both of them and he knew Bilbo didn’t really have to stir for another hour yet, his first lecture being at ten that morning.

Thorin reached down to the thin gap between the sink and cupboard and pulled out a wooden bed tray, carefully unfolding its legs. Every so often, they would eat breakfast together in bed. It reminded them both of Ered Luin, and not all memories of the hospital were unhappy: many were fond and spoke of comfort and familiarity. In fact, eating with the bed tray seemed to have eased some of Bilbo’s anxieties over his reintegration, so they usually ate like this a couple of times a week.

With everything loaded onto the tray, Thorin carried it back into the bedroom, Dain following but careful not to get under his feet. Bilbo was sitting up in bed, one hand idly stroking Sting’s head, the other scrolling through his phone. He looked up as Thorin entered.

“Oh, love, you didn’t have to do that… I was on my way out to you,” Bilbo said, his small smile contrite.

“It’s okay, I like having breakfast in bed,” Thorin replied, setting the tray down over Bilbo’s lap before climbing up on top of the covers at his side.

“Off you go, Sting, don’t want you getting a coffee-coating,” Bilbo said, gently urging the Golden Retriever to hop down from the bed and lie on the floor by the bedside table. Dain moved around the bed to join him.

“So, what exciting things are you going to get up to today then?” Bilbo asked, lifting his steaming mug of coffee from the tray.

Thorin reached for his plate of Marmite-free toast. “We’ve got a group of kids coming from a Pupil Referral Unit for a talk,” Thorin explained. “We’ve got good ties with the school and a few of the unit’s ex-students have gone on to do well in the Forces… so it should be alright.”

Bilbo nodded, sipping his coffee. “And you’re seeing Heather today?”

“We’ve got a meeting this afternoon, but I think Captain Eorlingas wants her to be part of the talk too.” Thorin swallowed another mouthful of toast and picked up his mug. He liked this ritual of discussing their plans for the day with each other. He knew the routine was good for Bilbo and as Fili was unable to pull another whiteboard from a skip, they were happy to go through their plans verbally. “Your first lecture is at ten?”

“Yes, with Professor Stevens – I haven’t heard him lecture before, but Ivy says he’s very good. I’ve got a supervision session at midday and then I thought I’d go to Ered Luin for visiting hours, see how Ori got on with his unescorted leave.”

Ori had been given a provisional discharge date for next month and things had progressed fairly smoothly once it had been confirmed that he would be living with Dori for the foreseeable future. Now that he was working again and keeping his nose clean, Nori had originally decided to ruffle his older brother’s feathers by suggesting Ori come and stay with him. Luckily, he had backed down and agreed to Ori’s decision to live with Dori before anything became too messy. It was, however, agreed that Ori would be allowed to spend some of his escorted leaves at Nori’s flat whilst he was acclimatising himself to the outside world.

“And Fili and Kili are coming here for four?” Thorin asked, finishing his second slice of toast and wiping crumbs from his beard with his thumb. Dis was overseeing a crucial Year 11 parents’ evening and although Thorin trusted that his niece and nephew would be able to feed themselves, he’d still stayed true to his promise to Dis when she took on the deputy headship and said he and Bilbo would entertain them for the evening.

“Yes, although Fili just needs to get back to me about the fixtures for her fencing matches – she’s sure there isn’t one on today, but I said she ought to check.”

“I’ll try to be home for half five,” Thorin said, fingers moving over Bilbo’s on the bed.

“There’s no rush, I’m sure I can handle your niece and nephew for a couple of hours.”

“ _Our_ niece and nephew,” Thorin corrected him gently, unable to stop the smile as he leaned forward and kissed his nose.

“Our niece and nephew,” Bilbo repeated, a wry look in his eyes as his brushed a few tiny crumbs from the front of Thorin’s uniform. “Now, you need to get going, I’ll tidy this up.”

“I could call in sick,” Thorin said, aware of how puppyish he sounded and that he did say this at least once a week.

“Even if you did, I’d still be going to my lecture and my supervision, so you’d be in bed alone,” Bilbo grinned. “So off you go.”

Thorin let Bilbo gently push him from the bed. As much as he was loath to leave Bilbo every morning, he knew come evening they’d be back together again. Their days had taken on comfortable, circular narratives: that gravitational pull had never left them and they would start and end each day in the other’s arms, travelling apart during the course of the day, but always returning to one another at its close. It was settled, it was content, it was undeniably domestic. And for the past two months, Thorin had enjoyed every second of it.

And so, fixing Dain’s high-vis jacket in place, Thorin collected his already-packed rucksack. He leaned around the bedroom door to give his boyfriend a dopey parting grin, and then he was gone, heading out through the wrought iron gates of Shire Oak Court and into the crowds teeming through the busy tributaries of the city centre.

 

…

 

_“Where there's a will, there's a way, kind of beautiful_ _… And every night has its day, so magical… And if there's love in this life, there's no obstacle, that can't be defeated…”_

Bilbo found himself humming along to the music blasting from his noise-cancelling headphones as he and Sting weaved in and out of the crowds of suited people and shoppers, making their way, slowly but surely, across Leeds city centre and towards the university’s History Department.

An Avicii playlist had been Fili’s suggestion when he’d decided to download some music onto his phone, ready for the journeys that would take him beyond the quiet of Shire Oak Court. Living in the centre of Leeds meant that everything he would ever need was on his doorstep, but it also meant nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things like car alarms and sirens and the shrill beep of dozens of zebra crossings. He and Gandalf had done tireless work on helping reduce his reactions to his triggers – and that work was still continuing – and so noise-cancelling headphones and very loud electro house music seemed to be the best way forward for now.

Bilbo also found that not only did the music help him focus his mind, it also generally stopped people from approaching him in the street. He was viewed by those who knew him as quite a sociable creature, and he rarely corrected them, but the truth was that Thorin was actually far more adept at dealing with strangers’ questions about Dain than he was with Sting. He suspected his boyfriend was well aware of this fact, but didn’t want to say anything in case it hurt his feelings. If only his homicidal glare was half as good as Thorin’s, then maybe he’d be able to ensure he was left alone for the duration of his travels.

The song came to a close and immediately segued into the next: Fili had done something technical with his playlists so that there would be no silences between songs and therefore no reason for the nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable noises to interrupt his journey. This particularly upbeat tune was what his niece called ‘a banger’ and it reminded him of his days – or, more to the point, _nights_ – on The Nightingale’s dancefloor. The club had been his second home for most of his time in Birmingham. He supposed listening to music that brought to mind the early 2000s was a little like the make-belief conjured by his hoodie… but he was willing to allow himself this thin layer of armour. Besides, it seemed his life story had decided to adopt a circular narrative as he once again found himself a student of History, so maybe he could be forgiven this musical nostalgia.

Having successfully crossed the city centre without incident, Bilbo found himself passing through the automatic doors of the lecture theatre. The modern foyer – a clean and crisp affair of glass and shining metal – was fairly empty, most students yet to arrive for the lecture. He had timed his trip so that he would arrive at least ten minutes early and therefore be able to get a more accessible seat at the front of the lecture theatre where the row was wider and more comfortable for him to sit with Sting.

Hitting ‘pause’ on Avicii, Bilbo closed the playlist and couldn’t help the fond smile that sprang to his lips as he looked down at his phone’s background: a photo he’d taken a month ago of Thorin wearing the most beautiful, dopey grin. People could tease him for being a sap all they wanted, he didn’t care: he’d been positively and proudly smitten for almost a year now. After such an extended and horribly blank period of being unable to feel much at all, these affectionate emotions were still very much a novelty… and he was going to indulge himself as much as he wanted, thank you very much. His love for Thorin was a soft, curiously warm ribbon threading through his chest and his head, curling around the gaps where the grey wool used to be.

“Morning, Bilbo!”

Bilbo looked up just as John, a porter from the History department, bustled past with a cheery wave. Bilbo smiled and returned the greeting. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but he seemed to have somehow ended up on first names terms with half of the university’s staff. Maybe he should reconsider the theories on his being a social creature.

Pushing through the heavy double doors which led to the top of the lecture theatre, Bilbo saw that there were maybe two dozen students already seated, scattered about the rows of faded sea-green chairs. His eyes jumped about the room until he spotted Ivy and Aiden sitting in the middle of the front row, having clearly saved a seat for him. He slid his phone into his chinos pocket and made his way down the stairs to meet them.

Ivy looked up when he appeared at the end of the row and flashed a smile. “Hey,” she said warmly.

“Hello.” Bilbo moved down to the chair next to Ivy. Shrugging off his rucksack, he settled Sting onto the floor and fed him a well-deserved handful of treats. “Thanks for saving me a seat.”

“Well, we’ve been here since half eight listening to the thrilling history of Dr. Clayhanger’s antique pan stand,” Aiden said, leaning around Ivy with a grin.

Bilbo had first met the third-year couple when he was looking for his PhD supervisor’s temporary office. The conversation had been easier and far less awkward than many of his interactions with younger students and even some members of staff, and so they had ended up sitting together in lectures. He knew it was rather rude to keep using his Intelligence tricks and assessments when meeting new faces, but he hadn’t needed to probe much to figure out that Ivy and Aiden were genuinely nice people… or that Aiden was going to propose to his girlfriend of three years in about a month’s time, but he should probably stop giving the young Welshman encouraging, knowing looks.

“Ah, I can’t believe I missed more of the antique pan stand’s gripping saga,” Bilbo said, smirking as he pulled a chunky, A4 notepad out of his rucksack.

Both Ivy and Aiden were making their lecture notes on laptops, and with one glance around the room, Bilbo clocked the glow of many screens, but still he couldn’t quite convince himself that it was safe to bring his MacBook out and about with him. If he had an episode, if he collapsed, he knew it would be the first thing to be damaged and he wasn’t sure his insurance would cover it. He had only had two proper episodes since his discharge, one at home in his flat with Thorin, and the other outside this very lecture theatre – which, come to think about it, was how he met John the porter. This meant he was technically averaging one episode a month and he wasn’t going to risk the most expensive thing he owned. Well, he tried to tell himself it was the MacBook’s price tag, not the fact that it was Thorin’s ‘New Home’ gift to him, which he had had engraved with a few lines of Frost.

“Bilbo?” Ivy said gently.  

“Sorry,” he smiled. “Just brooding.” Ah, maybe you did get like the people you lived with.

“Is it time for us to ‘snap in’?” Ivy prompted, knowing he didn’t want to be questioned further.

“I believe it is.” Bilbo pulled his phone back out of his pocket and opened the Snapchat app. “Best ‘snapping in’ face, everybody.” He held his phone up and Ivy and Aiden crowded in behind him, pulling goofy faces, and Bilbo took their picture. He sent the Snap to Thorin and Fili.

He knew that both his and Thorin’s iPhones had a tracking app so that if either of them went missing or something happened, their phones, at least, could be located. However, this ritual of ‘snapping in’ seemed to be a far less morose way of handling the eventuality of one of them going AWOL. When they were out and about, he and Thorin always Snapchatted each other from the places they visited, forming a kind of trail, so that should something go wrong, they each had a picture of the other’s day so that steps could be retraced. Equally, Bilbo just enjoyed getting pictures of his boyfriend almost every hour whilst they were apart. Much to Thorin’s chagrin, he screenshotted most of them. The ribbon was widening, growing silkier, almost thrumming inside his chest at the thought.

“Hand-out for you, Bilbo.” Aiden passed over two stapled white sheets and Bilbo inspected them with obvious amusement.

“Nice to see that lecturers’ photocopying skills haven’t improved since I was an undergrad,” he said, eyeing the skewed blocks of text that were built up on the page like one of the many dry stone walls which dominated the Yorkshire countryside.

“Generally, I find the more terrible the photocopying, the better the lecture,” Ivy commented, wryly inspecting her own hand-out.

With Professor Stevens’ arrival imminent, the lecture theatre had suddenly become quite busy. Students were settling themselves on all rows and firing up their laptops or pulling out folders and files. Bilbo was about to ask Ivy about the latest draft of her dissertation when a shriek sounded to his left.

“Oh my God, it’s a dog! It’s an actual dog!”

Feeling himself freeze up, Bilbo slowly turned, his jaw tight, to see a girl in a bright orange School of History hoodie, her blonde hair scraped back into a ponytail, standing at his side, her hand clutched to her chest.

“Look, look, Sophie – it’s a dog!” she cried, her Geordie accent growing thicker as she turned to her friend behind her. She then looked back at Bilbo and spoke to him with deliberate slowness. “I’m so sorry I almost stepped on your dog.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but bristle, feeling as if a bucket of ice had been thrown over him, and he tried to force a smile, but the orange-clad girl was going off like a foghorn, still screeching about Sting to her friends. His vision taking on a grey film, he forced himself to hold onto the ribbon, the soft, warm ribbon, and think about what Thorin would do in this situation… He would probably let the girl pet Sting, but that wouldn’t shut her up and he needed her to shut up because people all over the lecture theatre were turning to look. Sting was on his feet, standing at Bilbo’s side, back legs pressing against his knee in reassurance as he formed an obvious barrier between Bilbo and this perceived, ponytailed threat, warning her about coming any closer. If she hadn’t been so loud, Bilbo thought he might have heard the first rumblings of a growl sounding deep in Sting’s chest.

But then Ivy was suddenly leaning forward, anger simmering in her brown gaze and ice in her voice as she said: “Sorry, do they not have dogs in Newcastle?”

The girl was finally silenced as her eyes met Ivy’s and all she could do was let out a soft, confused ‘oh’. All her bravado seemed to have been extinguished and she shrank back like a deflated balloon. She carefully turned, her hand going to the seat behind her, preparing to sit down, but Ivy was watching her, expression murderous.

“No,” she said simply, the single syllable sharp, her meaning clear.

The girl didn’t need telling twice: she and her friends quickly scrambled back down the row, finding somewhere else to sit. Most people had stopped looking now, but a few curious gazes lingered. When Bilbo caught their eye, they instantly looked away, seeming almost ashamed.

Sitting back in the chair, he let Sting move in between his knees and focused on giving the Golden Retriever a good stroke, making sure he kept his breathing even, trying to ignore the heat he felt rising in his cheeks.

He knew Ivy was watching him with concern, but she wouldn’t ask: she would just wait. Having been a young carer for her mum from the age of twelve, Ivy seemed to be a barometer for his mood, knowing what he needed, what he really wanted to say. He supposed this also explained why she had become rather protective of him fairly quickly… but today he was glad of that.

“I didn’t handle that very well,” he said eventually, feeling the first stirrings of anger slide over the heated wave of embarrassment.

“Hey, you did great,” Ivy said, tone quiet and reassuring as she put a tentative hand on Bilbo’s arm. “I’m the one who didn’t handle that very well… I kind of wanted to pull the skin off her face by her ponytail. Sorry I got cross.”

“It’s okay,” Bilbo replied, managing a smile. “Thanks for… well, getting rid of her.”

“Yes, you were absolutely terrifying,” Aiden grinned, kissing Ivy’s cheek. “And I’m pretty sure her hoodie was going to give me a headache if I had to look at it any longer.” He then turned to Bilbo. “Do you want to get some air?”

Bilbo shook his head. “No… No, I’ll be fine… Professor Stevens should be here any minute, anyway.”

He knew Aiden and Ivy were still casting glances his way as they settled back in their seats, but Bilbo kept his eyes on the theatre’s empty lectern, continuing to stroke Sting’s ears. If he was honest with himself – and that was something he still had to coax himself into doing – he didn’t think he was coping particularly well with the attention that came with having a service dog.

During his years at Ered Luin, he knew he had been labelled ‘the normal one’. He was used to being able to mask and act his way out of anything that made him different, but now he had a symbol of his ‘otherness’ in a high-vis jacket. On the ward, he’d lost count of the number of times someone had mistaken him for a visiting relative, and when he’d started actually getting dressed last year he’d been taken for a member of staff more than once. But out in the real world, beyond the hospital’s sphere of security, there was no mistaking him, he was Virginia Woolf’s Septimus Warren Smith… and it was taking him some time to adjust to this fact. He made the sensible decision to talk about it with Thorin tonight, after Fili and Kili had gone, and maybe he should mention it to Gandalf tomorrow… and Faramir the day after.

There was a soft ding as his phone received a Snapchat. Pulling it from his pocket, he saw that it was from Thorin and that he’d already received one back from Fili. He opened Fili’s first and stifled a laugh at her candid snap which appeared to have been taken quite unadvisedly in the middle of her History lesson. The text box simply read ‘fml’ and she was pulling an unimpressed face close to the camera. Her teacher, Mr. Greenwood, was a blurry but recognisable figure in the background. He suspected Fili never sent Snapchats to Thorin whilst she was supposed to be in lessons and he made a mental note to give her a gentle talking-to when he saw her that afternoon.

Opening the second Snap, the ribbon started flowing again at the sight of Thorin holding his phone high above him so he could fit not only Heather, but also Captain Eorlingas, Tom and Bungle, and half a dozen visiting teenagers into the frame. They were all waving and grinning at him from the screen and all of a sudden Bilbo felt a little more settled, more reassured, and he knew he shouldn’t be surprised really… Thorin, his family: they were always the ones to bring him back from the brink.

A hush had fallen over the lecture theatre and the last pockets of chattering died away as Professor Stevens entered and made his way to the lectern. He was a small man with frizzy, dark grey hair; his sharply hooked nose and dark, kind eyes gave him the aura of a rather benign bird of prey. He rooted around in his worn and patched leather briefcase for his notes and then got himself set up by simply rustling the papers. It seemed this was going to be quite the old-school lecture, with no Powerpoint slides or video clips. Bilbo once again found himself feeling like an undergrad. Circular narrative indeed.  

“Good morning,” Professor Stevens said, his voice soft and expression more than endearing as he smiled up at the rows of students. “I trust you’ve all managed to get hold of this lecture’s hand-outs?”

A murmur of agreement stirred around the theatre, although its low hum seemed to indicate that the majority of the professor’s audience had only just rolled out of bed.

“Excellent.” Professor Stevens shuffled his notes again and then took hold of the lectern. He leaned forward, shoulders growing pointed behind him as if they were actually about to sprout wings, and in a conspiratorial whisper, he said: “War… What is it good for?”

There were a few titters and a shout of ‘absolutely nothing!’ from the back of the lecture theatre.

Professor Stevens continued to smile. “And today I am going to ask you to consider what others may answer when faced with this question… Now, if you could all turn your attentions to Source A, which I’ve labelled on the first page of the hand-out…”

For the next half an hour, Bilbo found himself hanging on Professor Stevens’ every word. He had an intriguing lecturing style, able to be enthusiastic and passionate without being overbearing or pompous. His words were quiet, but there was force behind them, emphasised by the occasional, meaningful hand gesture. Bilbo scribbled away, often re-reading what he had just written and adding in his own comments and questions for further research. There were a few things the professor said that he felt it was possible to quibble with or contradict, but this only made him add more questions in the margin of his page. The Professor took them through the greatest conflicts of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, and then he seemed to want to draw them towards the present in order for him to stress the continuing relevance of his points.

“… Now Source F indicates a section of the Armed Forces Act that was amended in 2009…”

Bilbo’s pen stilled on the page as his widened eyes moved over the skewed photocopy of the source. He knew the Armed Forces Act like the back of his hand, better than his own Master’s thesis. It had been revised multiple times in the past decade, and Bilbo had actually been involved in bringing about the amendment in question. He’d been part of a team of the Forces’ representatives asked to contribute to the changing of the legislation. He’d worked on it for three months, before ever stepping foot in Iraq. And this particular section had been amended in 2008, not 2009.

Sitting back in his chair, Bilbo’s fingers twitched around his pen. Sting scrambled to his feet again and moved between his knees, resting his head on his thigh, studying him with concern. Bilbo had never liked it when students contradicted their lecturers. At Birmingham it had always been a certain brand of toff who wanted to see their professor flounder, to impress their friends as they got off on their own arrogance and inflated egos. He didn’t want to be one of them.

But the fact remained that the information Professor Stevens was giving his students was wrong. Right now at least a hundred people were writing and typing the wrong date into their notes. Bilbo tried to keep himself breathing steady. The professor was out by only a year, only twelve months, and it shouldn’t matter, no one was ever going to use this information, no one even cared… but Bilbo did. He knew the consequences of releasing the wrong information out into the world.

The voice in his head was starting to sound odd and he could feel his mind drawing itself back from the desk, from the lecture theatre as the all-too familiar feelings of detachment set it. Hello depersonalisation, my old friend, Bilbo cursed, telling himself not to panic, that the situation had simply triggered one of his mind’s coping mechanisms.

But then the faded edges of the grey wool started twisting out inside his head, uncurling in his chest like dead, ghostly seaweed in a rock pool, threatening to stretch out, and the grey did spread, seeping into his vision.

Bilbo desperately tried to force it back. _No, no, you bastard, this is not a good enough reason to disassociate… I am not going to have an episode in a packed lecture theatre because of one number, of one stupid, insignificant number…_ The voice was completely foreign now, but still Bilbo searched out the soft ribbon, dipping his hands into the murky waters of the grey wool, hoping for the touch of silk against his fingers. When no ribbon appeared, he quickly changed tact and conjured the image of Thorin… Thorin sitting right next to him, smiling, talking to him in low, soothing tones. What would Thorin tell him to do? What would he suggest that would bring him back to himself?

And before Bilbo really knew what was happening, he found himself raising his hand. Professor Stevens stopped, stuttering to the end of his sentence and eyeing Bilbo with well-meaning surprise. Bilbo heard a few whispers circling around him as he carefully lowered his hand again.

“Yes, sorry, we have a question from the front row,” Professor Stevens said, still seeming a little taken aback.

Aware that everyone was probably staring (or glaring, even) into the back of his head, Bilbo cleared his throat, his heart hammering, the grey wool still expanding like a pale supernova inside his chest.

“Erm… Just… Well, just your date for Source F… That section in the Armed Forces Act wasn’t amended in 2009… It was amended in 2008.”

Professor Stevens furrowed his brow, eyes squinting down at his notes. “No… No, I have here that it was amended in 2009.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Bilbo let Sting lick at his fingers beneath the desk. _Please, please, please God, Ganesh, whoever is up there, don’t let me have an argument with a senior lecturer in front of all these undergrads._ And before the distorted voice in his head started sounding like a Smiths record, Bilbo tried again: “It was amended in 2008.”

Professor Stevens seemed confused by his conviction. “You have a reliable source for this?” he asked, peering at Bilbo with a twinkle in his dark eyes that reminded him of Gandalf.

“Yes,” Bilbo replied simply.

“Well?”

“I amended it.”

There were a few gasps and excited whispers behind him, but Bilbo forced himself to sit up straight. He expected Professor Stevens to be annoyed, certain he was being had: he didn’t expect the lecturer to actually look impressed.

“Really?” he said, intrigued. “And you are?”

Bilbo coughed again. “Captain Bilbo Baggins, formerly of the 1st Military Intelligence Battalion.”

Sincerely hoping Professor Stevens wasn’t going to draw this out longer, Bilbo was relieved when the professor’s thin lips widened into a smile. “Right, well…” He pulled a pen from his jacket pocket. “If you could all edit your notes for me, I stand corrected: Source F’s amendment took place in 2008, not 2009.”

There was more excited chatter and then Bilbo felt Ivy’s hand on his arm. He turned to see her and Aiden grinning at him and mouthing their congratulations. The voice inside his head clicked back into a familiar tone, as simple as the flick of a switch.

And the grey wool retreated, shredding itself, the frayed edges being cast off to a wind like a feathered dandelion clock.

The rest of Professor Stevens’ lecture progressed without any more excitement (or inaccuracies), but still Bilbo found himself feeling quite exhausted by the time the hour was up. He didn’t protest as Ivy helped him pack his things away.

The lecture theatre was once again alive with chatter as the students began to stream out, heading to their next commitments. Quite a few seemed to opt for the doors at the front of the theatre and as they passed the front row some flashed Bilbo a thumbs up and others gave a few words of support, expressing how ‘cool’ it was that he’d actually been involved in amending the Armed Forces Act. It seemed he had once again made himself stand out from the crowd, although he wasn’t sure he minded quite so much this time.

Bilbo, Ivy and Aiden had begun edging down the row when Professor Stevens called out: “Er, Captain Baggins, could I have a quick word?”

Bilbo’s stomach tightened. He was sure he was about to be reprimanded, like a naughty schoolchild asked to stay behind after the lesson so their teacher could give them a stern talking-to. He glanced behind at Ivy and Aiden, who returned looks of confusion.

“Do you want me to stay?” Ivy whispered.

Bilbo shook his head. “I’ll be fine… See you both on Friday for ‘Historiography’?”

“You’re not coming to ‘Modern World’ tomorrow?”

“Er, no… I have a session.”

Bilbo had to commend Ivy for her impeccable poker face as she replied: “I’ll email my notes to you then.”

He knew it had been unnecessary to phrase his answer so that it wasn’t quite clear whether he was meeting with his PhD supervisor or his psychiatrist – just another way his guard tended to slip in – but at least Ivy was as unflappable as Rosie. Bidding her and Aiden goodbye, he tried not to think ‘dead man walking’ as he made his way over to Professor Stevens, who had been waiting patiently by the lectern.

“Captain Baggins,” the lecturer smiled, offering his hand to shake. His eyes didn’t even move to Sting, who was leaning, protectively, against Bilbo’s leg.

“Just Bilbo, please,” Bilbo replied, shaking his hand.

“Bilbo,” Professor Stevens agreed. “Now, would I be right in thinking you’re a PhD candidate? First year?”

Bilbo was about to question his methods of deduction, but then he stopped himself, deciding to keep this simple. “Yes, I started in January.”

“Excellent, excellent. Well, you see, the department’s in a bit of a pickle at the moment as, unfortunately, one of our other PhD candidates has had to take an extended leave of absence and we need someone to cover a couple of tutorials.”

Bilbo drew in a measured breath. “You… You’d like me to… teach?”

“If you’d be willing,” Professor Stevens smiled.

The ribbon resurfaced, rippling across Bilbo’s chest in fluttering, giddy movements, but he tried not to get too ahead of himself. “What, er, what’s the workload like?”

“Oh, nothing much at all – no commitments this term, but if you could lead two second-year tutorials next term, that would be absolutely brilliant.”

“Which modules?” Bilbo asked carefully.

“It’d only be the ‘Europe in an Age of Total Warfare’ module and you would teach the same tutorial twice,” the professor explained. “I think you might have a lot to offer our undergrads here.”

Bilbo nodded. “Can I, er, get back to you on it?” This seemed like the safest way to phrase: ‘Can I run this by my doctor first?’

“Of course…” Professor Stevens scribbled an email address down on a scrap piece of paper from his briefcase and handed it over. “This is the module manager’s email address… If you could let her know if you’d be interested?”

“Thank you,” Bilbo smiled, accepting the paper.

After a pause, in which Bilbo felt he was being dismissed, he began to turn away, only to have Professor Stevens stop him with: “And Bilbo, thank you for correcting me today. History is so often a distorted version of the truth… I value all the indisputable facts I can get my hands on.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to reply, to agree, but unable to put anything as eloquently as the lecturer had done, he merely nodded and then turned away again, leaving Professor Stevens to pack up the rest of his belongings and slide his newly-amended notes back into the worn leather briefcase.

 

…

 

Pushing open the dark green door, Thorin found himself out of breath and it was a moment before he could call out: “Sorry I’m late!”

Greetings of “Hi, Uncle!” were shouted back from beyond the hallway. Thorin unclipped Dain’s lead and helped the Labrador shuck off his jacket. With these safely stored away, he headed down the hall to the living room. Bilbo and Kili were sitting at the table, which was covered in books and yellow worksheets, suggesting the pair were tackling quite the mountain of homework together. Sting was curled up at Bilbo’s feet and after looking back at Thorin, as if to ask permission, Dain bounded forward, tail wagging, to greet his friend. He and Sting fussed over each other for a while until the older dog convinced the younger to get himself settled down at his side. Fili was lying, stretched out, on the sofa with an _OK!_ magazine in her hand, looking as if she had been there for  a while.

“That your homework?” Thorin grinned, squeezing her shoulder as he passed.

“I’m going to study Anthropology,” Fili said, idly turning a page. “Reading trashy mags is definitely homework: gives you a great insight into the state of humanity.”

Thorin rolled his eyes: Fili sounded more and more like Bilbo every day. Moving to the table, he stood behind Bilbo’s chair and leaned down to kiss his forehead. Bilbo ran an affectionate hand over his arm.

“Alright, mate?” Thorin asked, smiling across at Kili. “At least someone’s working hard.”

“Insight into the state of humanity!” Fili yelled from the sofa.

“Yeah, we’re just finishing my English homework,” Kili explained, sounding a little defeated. “I hate punctuating dialogue… it’s really difficult for me to see where the commas go.”

“But Kili’s agreed that this is something he should talk to Miss Silvan about,” Bilbo added. “See if we can sort out some tricks and fixes.”

“Oh, Uncle Thorin, we made Mars Bar slice!” Kili said, changing the subject almost as quickly as he leapt to his feet.

Nowadays it was always a shock to the system whenever Kili stood up: since turning thirteen, he’d had one growth spurt after another and he was taller and lankier than ever. His voice was also in the process of breaking, and every so often his words came out quite high and squeaky, as if he were choking. No one ever commented, but Thorin sensed his nephew was quite embarrassed about this change.

“I don’t think it’s set yet, Uncle Bilbo,” Kili called over from the open plan kitchen, where he was peering into the fridge.

“Give it another hour,” Bilbo replied. “We’ll get it out after dinner.”

This mention of dinner reminded Thorin that he’d probably stalled the evening’s proceedings with his late return: it was well past six, over an hour after he’d intended to be home. “Sorry I’m late,” he said again. “We needed to change the window displays over and those things are way more complicated than they look.”

“No to worry, but I should probably get dinner started fairly soon,” Bilbo said, leaning his head back against Thorin’s abdomen. He looked up at him, green eyes bright. “But you’ve had a good day? Everything looked to be going well with your school visit.”

“Yeah, it was… well, it was really good. The kids all had a great sense of humour, and a great attitude really.”

“I’m very glad.”

“How was your day?”

Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed Bilbo’s pause, but Thorin was on it like a bloodhound on a scent.

“Oh, it was lovely,” Bilbo replied. “Ori was in high-spirits this afternoon and he’s meeting with a careers advisor tomorrow, see if he can get anywhere with his drawing.”

“That’s good,” Thorin said carefully, probably carefully enough for Bilbo to clock. “Everything go okay this morning?”

“Yes, yes – Dr. Goold gave my chapter framework a bit of a thrashing but it looks much better now and –”

“Bilbo, either you tell him or I will!” Fili said, without looking up from her magazine.

Thorin’s chest suddenly felt very tight and prickly, as if needles were jabbing in between his ribs. “What’s happened?” he whispered, aware that he must have gone quite pale.

Bilbo sighed. “It’s nothing terrible, so stop looking at me as if I’m about to keel over.” He reached out to take Thorin’s hand. “The lecturer, Professor Stevens, got the date wrong on one of his sources… It was a section from the Armed Forces Act that… well, that I actually helped amend… So I, er, corrected him.”

“He totally bossed him, Uncle! I wish I’d been there to see the Bilbo-burn,” Fili grinned.

“You’re making it sound very dramatic, Fili,” Bilbo said, with a wry smile. “I assure it wasn’t nearly so exciting.”

“You corrected your lecturer?” Thorin said, looking down at his boyfriend with a fond smile, completely unsurprised by this news. “Was he angry?”

“Well, no, not really… He offered me a job.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“They just need someone to cover a couple of tutorials,” Bilbo explained. “I’m going to run it by Gandalf tomorrow.”

“But you’d like to do it?” Thorin asked, the needles withdrawing from his ribs.  

“Of course… I’m quite looking forward to it, actually.”

“You’re gonna be really good at it too,” Kili put in, wincing a little as his voice cracked. “You’re better than like half the teachers at school.”

“Thank you, Kili,” Bilbo said quietly.

A moment of warmth and affection stretched out between the four of them, and then Bilbo was getting to his feet, rousing Sting from the floor.

“Right, I didn’t pick up any chicken stock when I was out and about today, so I’m just nipping to Tesco Express.”

“Do you want someone to go with you?” Thorin asked, as Dain padded to his side.

“No, no, I’ll be fine.” Bilbo went to retrieve Sting’s lead and jacket. “Okay, I’ll be back in ten.”

“Have you got your phone?” Thorin murmured.

Bilbo only smiled. “Yes, I’ll ‘snap in’ by the grocery aisle.”

“Make sure there’s a hilariously-shaped vegetable in the background,” Fili said, still not looking up from _OK!_.

“Noted,” Bilbo chuckled, and with that he was heading out the dark green door.

Thorin moved towards the bedroom, but when the front door clicked shut, Fili suddenly leapt from the sofa and Kili came to his side.

“Okay, Uncle, this is an intervention,” his niece said, sounding very business-like as she rolled up her magazine.

For one, bewildered moment, Thorin thought she might smack him with it. “Intervention?” he whispered, looking from Fili to Kili with obvious confusion.

“Will you sit down, please?” Kili asked, gesturing to the sofa, mimicking his sister’s formal tone.

Wordlessly, Thorin sat down on the sofa and watched as his niece and nephew pulled chairs away from the table so that they could sit in front of him.

“Okay, so we just need to put a disclaimer out there,” Fili began seriously. “We totally get that you and Bilbo have a lot of lost time to make up for, that last year was a really, really shitty time for both of you, and you are therefore completely entitled to want to spend every second of every day making goo-goo eyes at each other in your love nest… and me and Kee are really, really happy for you guys…”

“Really, really, really happy,” Kili added, with a nod.

“But…” Fili’s tense posture relaxed and her voice lost its formality, coming out in almost a whine. “We miss you, Uncle.”

Thorin tensed, letting his hand slide into Dain’s fur. “…What?” he asked softly.

“We miss you,” Kili repeated earnestly.

“Miss me?” Thorin said, eyebrow raised again. “We see each other all the time.”

“But we’re used to seeing you every day,” Fili said, blue eyes round. “And it’s been three weeks since you last came home… I kind of really miss just hanging out with you.”

“And we haven’t played football in _agessss_ ,” Kili said, hissing the ‘s’ for emphasis.

“I know,” Thorin said, heart starting to throb quite painfully in his chest as his eyes moved from Fili to Kili. “I… I am sorry.”

“No, no, we totally get it,” Fili said gently. “We’re not mad at you or anything and you don’t need to be sorry… It would just be nice if you could, well, come back to Chapel Allerton for a couple of nights? And I know this sounds like guilt-tripping and I promise it’s not meant to be… but Mum really misses you. She won’t say anything to you ‘cause she’s actually more emotionally-constipated than you were before therapy… but she does miss having you around.”

“I… I didn’t realise,” Thorin whispered, and he wanted to say sorry again, but the identical looks of understanding in Fili and Kili’s eyes told him he really didn’t need to. It had occurred to him, very briefly, that morning that he couldn’t remember the last time he had spent the night in Chapel Allerton… but it had never occurred to him that he might actually be missed: it was a slightly less-morbid parallel of his move to Germany. It had been a year, but in all honesty, he was still getting used to living as part of a family unit again.

“I will come back,” he said sincerely. “And we’ll play football…” He smiled at Kili. “And hang out…” A nod to Fili. “Just at the moment, Bilbo still needs me here.”

“Does he?” Fili asked carefully.

Thorin bristled at that: his niece should know better. “Fili…”

“No, I’m not trying to be a dick, but like… hasn’t Bilbo been fine when you’ve stayed over without him before? You know Bilbo likes his own space and now he’s got his independence back… You guys haven’t spoken about this?”

Thorin leaned back against the sofa. “He… he might have mentioned it…”

“Okay, so… could you check with Bilbo if it’d be okay for you to come back for a night or two? Maybe a weekend or something? I mean, he can come with you, just as long as you spend some time with Mum, because I think she’s taking her angst out on her Year 11s at the moment and I’m sure they’ll thank you for it.”

Thorin managed a laugh. “Okay, I’ll talk to Bilbo and I’ll see if I can come back this weekend.”

“Thanks, Uncle Thorin!” Kili said, his whole face lighting up as he jumped forward, pulling his uncle into a hug.

“We’ll go to the park, see how many shots you can get past me,” Thorin grinned, before looking over to Fili.

“We didn’t want to upset you, we really have just missed you,” Fili said, the humour gone from her voice, and now she did actually look a little worried.

“You haven’t upset me,” Thorin replied quietly, before opening his arm to her. “Come here.”

Fili moved to the sofa, her smile returning, and let Thorin pull her into his and Kili’s embrace.

 

…

 

There were four yellow boxes of chicken OXO cubes in the cupboard. Bilbo had returned from Tesco Express with only one. Thorin stood, feeling the night’s chill, dressed as he was in pyjamas with bare feet, staring into the kitchen cupboard and eyeing the offending stack of chicken stock with brows knitted. Slowly closing the cupboard on the scene, he collected the mugs of hot chocolate and wandered back into the bedroom.

Bilbo was sitting up in bed, a book in his lap. Dain went to join Sting in their perfectly-sized, two-dog bed in the corner of the room. Thorin handed Bilbo his hot chocolate, which he took with a warm ‘thank you’. Moving with caution, Thorin didn’t return to his side of the bed, but sat down by Bilbo’s legs, wrapping his hands around his own mug.

“Okay?” Bilbo prompted, eyeing Thorin through the tendrils of steam curling from his hot chocolate.  

“We didn’t need chicken stock this evening,” Thorin said slowly. “We already had three boxes in the cupboard.”

Bilbo was quiet for a few moments, his lips pressed together as he weighed up his response. “Did Fili and Kili speak to you?”

Realisation had been dawning, but this comment certainly sped up the process. “You knew they wanted to speak to me?”

“I had my suspicions,” Bilbo said, with a small smile. “So I thought I’d leave you to it.”

“They’re missing me… Dis is too,” Thorin mumbled. “I didn’t realise… Have… Have you been asking me to go back to Chapel Allerton?”

Bilbo reached out and took Thorin’s hand, his fingers warm from holding his mug. “I have, sweetheart, but I don’t think you were really hearing what I was saying… I think you needed to hear it from Fili and Kili first.”

“Oh,” Thorin said, trying to remember having this conversation with Bilbo before, but no memories stirred amidst the warm, brightly-coloured and busy scenes of the past two months.  “And you don’t mind if I go back for a couple of days?”

“Of course not,” Bilbo replied, lifting Thorin’s hand from the bed and kissing his knuckles. “I’m sure Sting and I will be fine… I just didn’t want you to take it the wrong way, like I didn’t want you here, because I do very much want you here… but I am happy to share.”

“Okay,” Thorin smiled, leaning in to kiss Bilbo gently on the side of the mouth. “I’ll go this weekend… but I’m glad you want me here.”

“I’ve seen your bare bum, love, you’re never not going to be welcome here,” Bilbo grinned.

Thorin pulled away but stayed close enough that he was sure Bilbo could still feel his breath brushing his lips. “Would you like to see it again?” he whispered.

“Well, if you’re offering.” Bilbo had a twinkle in his eye.

Thorin reached out and slipped Bilbo’s mug of hot chocolate from his grasp, placing it on the bedside table along with his own, and then, with a soft chuckle at the feral glint in his boyfriend’s eyes, he let Bilbo pull him back down onto the bed.


	2. February, 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Now, a fair few of you were after some smut, and more specifically: Thorin and Bilbo’s first time together. (I’d also like to just give a special nod to JessariOfErebor for their brilliant suggestions for this chapter!)
> 
> And so, as an early birthday present to myself, here it is in all its steamy glory! 
> 
> Soundtrack for this chapter, two sexy covers of amazing songs:
> 
> ‘Crazy’ by Daniela Andrade  
> ‘You’re The One That I Want’ by Lo-Fang 
> 
> Warning: This chapter is very much explicit. Like 10,000+ words of just sex. 
> 
> *runs away and hides*

_“…But, wait a minute! Blackadder, you've just been to France, and you've rescued a French aristocrat... Oh, Blackadder! Are you the Scarlet Pimpernel?”_  
  
_“Absolutely not, Sir.”_  
  
_“Hurray!”_

Thorin felt Bilbo’s chuckle as his shoulders shook against his chest, and he too couldn’t help but laugh at the comedic genius of Hugh Laurie’s facial expression: the last shot just before the credits for the episode rolled.

They were lying together on the sofa, Bilbo between Thorin’s legs, leaning his back against Thorin’s chest so that his curls just about tickled his nose. Thorin’s head was pressing into the soft black leather at the top of the sofa’s arm, one foot almost touching the cushions at the other end, the other placed on the wooden floor.

The wood and the leather had been fairly cold when they first settled down in their pyjamas to watch the evening’s re-runs of _Blackadder the Third_ on _Dave_ , but then the central heating had kicked in and soon, with their bodies pressed together on the sofa, there wasn’t even need for a blanket, the February chill being kept at bay by the flat’s softly clanking radiators. Dain and Sting had found their own warmth with each other, curled as they were on the floor in front of the sofa. The chocolate Labrador had fussed a bit before settling down practically on top of Sting, but the Golden Retriever had borne it all with his usual good-natured stoicism.

This was the second of Bilbo’s unescorted overnight stays… and still Thorin wasn’t quite used to, well, the _privacy_ offered by these new surroundings. Dis had dropped them both off at Shire Oak Court at five o’ clock that evening and they were due back at Ered Luin at eleven o’ clock the following morning. They had unpacked a few more boxes of books, cooked a pasta bake together in Bilbo’s new kitchen, sat and eaten it at the small table in the corner of the living room, washed up, changed into their pyjamas, and then settled down on the sofa in front of the tele. And all of this had been done without interruption: no checks, no obs, no one sticking their head around the door to ask if they needed anything… It had been just the two of them, caught up in their own private sphere, locked in each other’s familiar and intimate gravitation pull, content in this cosy corner of the world that was theirs and theirs alone.

Thorin couldn’t deny that this newfound freedom was most certainly welcome, but he had to admit it had been a little unsettling at first. It brought back the feelings of displacement after his own discharge, when he had found himself left to unpack in his quiet blue room, far away from the everyday noises of the ward. Bilbo almost managed to disguise his own discomfort, but every so often he and Thorin would catch the other twitching or suddenly looking around at an unfamiliar sound… and then they would stop and laugh, lace their fingers together, press kisses into shoulders and necks, and just keep on going.

The broad, blokey voiceover on Dave was summarising the next episode of _Blackadder_ when Bilbo leaned forward and retrieved the remote from the coffee table. He flicked off the television and stretched his legs a little, pointing his toes towards the cushions, but then settled back against Thorin’s chest with a sigh of contentment.

Thorin waited a few moments before brushing his fingers lightly over the top of Bilbo’s arm. “Time for bed?” he asked quietly, even though his boyfriend seemed quite reluctant to move.

Bilbo gave an affirmative hum, but stayed reclining against Thorin’s chest, his hand idly settling over his knee. Thorin couldn’t say he was in any rush to sleep and so he simply accepted that Bilbo would move them when he was ready. Equally, he quite liked feeling Bilbo’s weight pressing down on his chest, hearing his soft, slow breaths and lazy hums… and so he allowed himself a few more moments of indulgence. He rested his head back against the sofa’s arm and continued to trace almost-tickling patterns on the soft fabric of Bilbo’s pyjama sleeve. Staring up at the cream-coloured ceiling, he noted that it was smooth and unblemished by any spidery grey cracks like the plaster in Ered Luin. He thought he might have seen a wisp of spider web, but maybe that was just his eyes playing tricks on him.

Finally, Bilbo stirred in his arms, but Thorin was prevented from rising as Bilbo slowly turned himself so that their stomachs were pressing together. He folded his arms on Thorin’s chest so that he could rest his chin on top of them.

“Hello,” Thorin said, with a dopey smile.

Bilbo was watching him, his green gaze affectionate… but also somehow careful, as if he was trying to figure something out.

Thorin was about to offer a cautious prompt when Bilbo slowly unfolded his arms and planted his hands on the sofa, either side of Thorin’s shoulders. He then leaned forward and pressed his lips to the corner of Thorin’s mouth. It was a chaste, almost questioning kiss, and Thorin gave him his answer as he sought out Bilbo’s mouth again, starting an exchange of slow kisses, their quiet breaths ghosting over lips every time they broke apart.

One hand sliding up to rest, fingers fanned out, against the top of Bilbo’s back, Thorin slipped the other hand to his neck, thumb brushing his jaw as they continued to kiss, Bilbo setting a languorous, but meaningful pace. It was after a few minutes of lazy exchanges that Thorin felt Bilbo’s tongue tickle his lips and his mouth fell open with a soft, inviting moan. He felt the vibrations in Bilbo’s chest, amused as he clearly was by the sound.

Thorin was happy to let Bilbo take the lead with their open-mouthed kissing as it grew steadily more impassioned, but never fierce, never rushed or urgent. His hand moved from between Bilbo’s shoulder blades to the back of his neck, careful not to tangle his fingers with the curls there. It was almost as if he were scared Bilbo would pull away at any moment and this was a fail-safe way to ensure a loss of contact didn’t occur.

Their breathing becoming heavier, Bilbo’s lips did draw away then, but the movement wasn’t enough to disturb Thorin’s hand. Bilbo’s breath was hot and heavy against Thorin’s beard: he felt it swirl against his ear, sending a few shivers tingling down his neck. Lips then brushed against the silver hairs creeping down from Thorin’s temple before leaving a trail of kisses down his jaw. Thorin was about to huff at the need to kiss properly again when Bilbo pushed their mouths together in a solitary, lingering kiss.

But then his mouth was moving away, and Bilbo was moving away, retreating back to sit, kneeling between Thorin’s legs on the sofa. It took Thorin a moment to fully register this change in their positioning, but then he lifted his head from the sofa’s arm to peer across at Bilbo… and the way he was biting his lip and rubbing his arm with one hand made Thorin pull himself up onto his elbows.

“Bilbo?” he asked, sensing very much that he was missing something.

Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, but faltered before the first syllable, his lips closing in a thin line. Thorin felt his stomach tighten slightly: he wanted to reach for him, but he wasn’t sure it would be welcome contact at this point.

“Thorin…” Bilbo began finally, his voice unexpectedly low. “I’m ready.”

“Ready?” Thorin whispered, brows knitted together – ready for…? Oh. _Oh._ The knot in his stomach tightened as _that_ revelation washed over him and his heart suddenly began quite an insistent thump inside his chest.

Bilbo slowly reached for Thorin’s hand and rubbed a thumb over his knuckles. “I’d very much like you to make love to me tonight,” he continued, in the same low tone, as the hand not holding Thorin’s settled over his crooked knee.

Thorin felt himself go very still, his eyes widening. He knew Bilbo wanted to wait until they had a house and a bed to themselves before they made love for the first time, but he hadn’t quite expected it to be so soon… and he chided himself for not realising that this was what the younger man had been leading up to from the moment he switched off _Blackadder_. Looking up at Bilbo now, Thorin was left absolutely speechless as a plethora of emotions ran riot, chasing each other around his head and clogging his insides. The anticipation, the excitement and giddiness, the desire had begun to stir within his stomach – and, er, _other regions_ – from the moment the words left Bilbo’s lips. But, unsurprisingly, they were battling against very familiar enemies: anxiety and fear. Without a doubt, this was going to be quite a momentous occasion in their relationship… and Thorin was unbelievably desperate not to fuck this up.

“I’ve surprised you,” Bilbo said, and he sounded like his usual self again, the deep rumble gone from his voice as he rocked back, his hand slipping from Thorin’s knee.

“Yes,” Thorin answered honestly, and then instantly regretted it when Bilbo’s face fell.

“I’m sorry, love… If you’re not ready –”

“Hey,” Thorin stopped him, reaching for Bilbo’s fallen hand. “I… I am ready, I just didn’t realise you might want to… tonight.”

Bilbo’s expression was slowly growing closed off, trying to hide his disappointment. “It’s okay… we can wait until after I’m discharged, after we’ve spent a few nights here…”

Sort this out right now, Thorin scolded himself. Use your words, don’t you dare ruin this. Drawing in a deep breath to try and slow his galloping heartbeat, he pulled himself up so that he was sitting opposite Bilbo, their joined hands resting in his lap.

“Bilbo, listen to me,” he said gently, forming his words with care. “You’ve caught me a little off guard – but that’s my fault. I do really, really want us to make love tonight… I want you… In every way possible, I want you.”

Bilbo finally smiled at that, the glint back in his eyes. “I want you too,” he whispered, before adding a firmer: “You’re sure?”

“Yes, please,” Thorin replied, his mouth feeling a little dry as his stomach began twisting itself with a flutter of both eagerness and nerves.

“Okay,” Bilbo said, his smile full of fondness, and then he unfolded his legs and rose from the sofa, slowly holding one hand back out to Thorin. “Come on then.”

Thorin scrambled off the sofa onto unsteady legs, already feeling a little dazed, but then Bilbo’s hand was closing over his, anchoring him, leading him, and then he was following him over to the bedroom door.

There was a clatter of paws against wooden floorboards, and both Thorin and Bilbo turned to see their respective assistance dogs eyeing them expectantly.

“You need to stay put, Sting,” Bilbo said, low but clear, holding his hand out flat towards the Golden Retriever in a clear stop signal. “Lie down for me, lie down…”

It took a moment for Sting to assess the command, but then he slumped back down onto the floor, curling his tail around his legs.

“Good boy,” Bilbo said, a grin sneaking onto his lips. “I’m going to be fine, I promise… Thorin’s going to take good care of me.”

Thorin felt the heat blossoming in his cheeks as Bilbo squeezed his hand. He had to cough before he addressed Dain, who was looking at him, head tilted in confusion. “You too, Mister… Lie down with Sting, go on, lie down for me…”

It was with some reluctance that Dain joined Sting on the floor, and the older dog lifted his head onto Dain’s back, letting him snuggle closer, as if to reassure him.

Thorin might not have moved if it wasn’t for Bilbo gently tugging on his hand, guiding him into the gloom of the flat’s one bedroom. Bilbo stopped them before they got to the bed, his hands moving up Thorin’s arms, their bodies not quite close enough to feel the other’s heat.

“Lights on or off?” he murmured, eyes searching out Thorin’s expression in the dark.

Thorin swallowed. “I… er, I usually keep them off, but…” He hesitated, unsure how to solve this particular conundrum.

“But…?” came Bilbo’s prompt.

“I… I’d like to… to see you,” Thorin said, trying but most probably failing to communicate that he thought being able to read each other’s body language and facial expressions was important. He also couldn’t deny that he’d quite like to be selfish and look his fill of his gorgeous boyfriend… Yet, he knew Bilbo had a few hang-ups in that department, so maybe this wasn’t the most tactful suggestion.

The answer, however, came without issue: “Flatterer,” Bilbo smirked.

He moved over to the bedside table closest to them and flicked on the lamp. The room was now lit up with a kind of ambient, golden glow that softened the edges of everything it touched. It was romantic, almost, like the illusion of candlelight. Bilbo returned to Thorin’s side: the lamp lit him beautifully.

“Better?”

“Better,” Thorin agreed, his heart beginning to hammer at his ribs again, the mixture of anticipation and anxiety curling in his gut.

Thorin’s hand was taken wordlessly this time as he was led over to the bed. They climbed on top of the plush duvet and sat, half-kneeling and facing each other, and Bilbo pulled Thorin in for another kiss. It was gentle at first, but then Bilbo’s obvious need made the kiss grow more insistent as tongues once again slipped past lips. Hands moved down from Thorin’s face to his shoulders, to his arms, before settling at his hips. Fingers curled around the bottom of his pyjama top.

“Now, I think we might be wearing too many clothes for this particular activity,” Bilbo grinned, pulling away so that Thorin could see the mischievous glint in his eyes.

Thorin managed a smile and a nod, slowly lifting his arms so that Bilbo could easily pull the top up and over his head, before flinging it quite dramatically over to the corner of the bed. He then lifted his hands and ran his fingernails over Thorin’s shoulders and his chest, teasing and tangling them in the curly, dark brown hair found there.

Closing his eyes, Thorin tilted his head up and let out a breath, almost a grunt. Bilbo’s hands felt so good, tickling his skin, sending more shivers down his arms and into his stomach… but why couldn’t he shake off his nerves? He knew there was a fairly obvious reason, but it still frustrated him. It had been over twenty years since he’d lost his virginity… but now he felt as if he were eighteen again, taking someone to bed for the first time. He felt just as unsure, just as anxious, and his heart was still thudding heavily beneath Bilbo’s palm.

It took him a few moments to realise that Bilbo’s hands had stopped moving, that they were still against his chest. Thorin opened his eyes and lowered his chin, the question appearing in his confused expression.

“Thorin, sweetheart… what’s wrong?” Bilbo said, and there was such concern in his eyes.

It seemed his thundering heartbeat could be felt through skin and bone. “I…” Thorin began, before letting out a huffed almost-growl. “I’m… I’m nervous… really nervous…I’m sorry… I do really want to do this… I just…”

He trailed off, hunching his shoulders in defeat, but then Bilbo’s hands were on his arms, pulling him into a warm, comforting embrace.

“Shhh… it’s okay,” he said, rubbing his hands in slow circles over Thorin’s bare back, and then he could hear the smile in his voice as he said: “I’m nervous too, you know.”

Thorin pushed his face into the crook of Bilbo’s neck, feeling better for just holding him close.

Bilbo rose a little so that he could whisper in Thorin’s ear: “But it’s just us now… and it’s me, just me… you’re with me, and whatever happens or doesn’t happen, we’re going to be okay.”

Thorin exhaled slowly, smiling against Bilbo’s neck. “Thank you,” he mumbled, before drawing away and resting their foreheads together.

Bilbo’s hands were cupping his face again. “If you need us to stop, or you want to slow down, you just tell me… okay? We don’t have to do anything at all, if you don’t want to.”

Thorin shook his head, forehead rubbing over Bilbo’s curls. “I want you,” he said, repeating his vow from before. “I want this… and you have to tell me too, if you want to stop.”

“I promise I will,” Bilbo said, hooking a finger under Thorin’s chin and pulling him in for a quick kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Thorin echoed… and suddenly he was hit by surgings of love, and affection, and desire, and giddiness. All these emotions swept in, trickling inside his chest and his stomach, filling every corner that had once been conquered by fear.

Spurred on by this electrifying crackle of emotion, Thorin drew Bilbo to him, pressing their bodies together along with their lips. His tongue was the first to tease its away into Bilbo’s mouth and he gained a delicious moan as reward, the younger man tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Thorin’s hands moved slowly over Bilbo’s waist and his hips and Bilbo began to gently scrape his fingernails over Thorin’s naked back, making him shudder to his very core. Thorin realised then that yes, this was scary, this was new and different, but he still felt safe: safe, and loved, and wanted. And that was very different to the scary he was used to.

Their noses bumping together, Thorin broke their kiss and murmured into the side of Bilbo’s mouth: “Can I undress you?”

“Of course,” Bilbo replied, sounding a little breathless, which only made the now pleasant coil of need tighten inside Thorin’s stomach. He shuffled back on the bed, studying Thorin with an encouraging, expectant smile.

Sucking in a slow breath, Thorin reached for the bottom of his pyjama top. Bilbo lifted his arms as Thorin began to carefully peel away the shirt, pulling it over his head and down his arms, and then the painful tableau of cross-hatched scars and cigarette burns scattered across Bilbo’s torso was revealed… It wasn’t long ago that the sight of them filled Thorin with rage, with hatred for those sickening, inhuman beasts who had inflicted them, but now he was finally able to see beyond the anger, beyond the story behind the scars, and simply accept that they were part of the man he loved, just as the scar running across the side of his head was part of him, and he had made a vow to love every part of Bilbo.

“You always stop for a moment,” Bilbo said quietly, drawing Thorin’s gaze back to his face. “When you undress me… you always stop here.”

There was just a hint of uncertainty, of insecurity, in Bilbo’s voice, and, despite having been shirtless in front of him at least a dozen times, Thorin could see that he was obviously feeling quite exposed.

Thorin reached out and brushed his fingers over the thin parallel scars at the top of Bilbo’s arm, his thumb smoothing over the raised white scar at his shoulder. “You… you taught me to love my own scar when I never thought I would… and I love yours even more.”

At first, he thought Bilbo was going to protest, but then a warm smile appeared and he was edging back to him. “Please can I touch your scar?” he asked, voice almost reverent.

Thorin nodded, even if he was a little confused.

Bilbo brought their bodies back together again, one hand pressing flat against Thorin’s chest, and then he trailed the fingers of the other over his neck, slowly, cautiously, up past his ear to the thick line of scar tissue. Bilbo’s fingertips were feather-light as they traced the line of the scar and Thorin closed his eyes, focusing on the stroking movements, leaning into Bilbo’s hand. Their noses were touching, but their lips weren’t, and there didn’t seem to be a hurry as they breathed gently, slowly, in sync.

Thorin lifted his own hand to Bilbo’s elbow, silently asking permission.

Bilbo’s caresses didn’t falter as he gave his answer: “Please.”

It reminded Thorin of the night they had shared a bed after their first argument. Bilbo had run his fingertips along Thorin’s scar, and Thorin had traced the jagged line on Bilbo’s wrist. There was a distant ache in recognising that Bilbo’s wrists now had two additional scars that still hadn’t quite lost their angry colour… but then this made the act all the more meaningful. Thorin used both hands to follow the mirrored lines of the scars, from their sharp tips just beyond the palms of Bilbo’s hands to their end points just beneath his elbows.

They breathed softly, silently, echoing each other’s touches, and it felt like healing.

It was a long time before Bilbo’s hand stilled and then he very carefully moved to lay back on the bed, his head resting on the pillows, and he pulled Thorin down with him so that his hands were braced either side of his shoulders, knees settling either side of his thighs.

They did kiss then, no more words needed as their mouths moved in complete synchronisation, eyelids fluttering shut, lost as they were in the heat and affection and want radiating from them both. Thorin gently sucked on Bilbo’s tongue before retreating and pushing their lips together again. Bilbo hummed and groaned into his mouth, and the sounds were completely mesmerising.

Thorin did, finally, register the fact that they had been kissing for an awfully long time now and neither of them was actually fully-naked yet. Too many clothes for this particular activity indeed. Drawing away and rocking back onto his knees, Thorin settled his hands either side of Bilbo’s hips, his fingers only just inching under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

“May I?” he asked softly.

“Good plan,” Bilbo replied, a smirk appearing as he slowly lifted his hips from the bed.

It wasn’t the most graceful of movements, but still Thorin enjoyed every second it took to slowly pull down the pyjamas and slip them off from around Bilbo’s ankles. Dropping them onto the floor, Thorin was rewarded by the sight of his boyfriend’s stirring cock, nestled in beautiful light brown curls, and the ache to touch it made his fingers twitch: but he stopped himself. That was where things were still a little complicated, and he was going to be careful.

“I’m quite upset that I don’t have a similar view,” Bilbo commented, his tone deceptively casual as his green eyes moved to the now rather noticeable bulge in Thorin’s pyjamas.

Thorin might have described the look in Bilbo’s gaze as ‘hungry’ and that thought alone sent him scrambling, quite quickly, out of his bottoms, until they too were crumpled on the floor beside Bilbo’s.

Now that they were both completely naked, Thorin had a moment of uncertainty, sensing the anxiety creeping like a shadow in the periphery of his vision, but then Bilbo was pulling him back down into his previous position and the heat of bare skin pressing against his own was enough to keep the nerves at bay. Instead, Thorin decided to focus on the goal he had set in his very first session with Dr. Cox: to give Bilbo pleasure. Bilbo had withheld it from himself for so long, haunted as he had been with so much pain and suffering, but this night really was about healing, about moving forward.

Thorin’s lips didn’t return to Bilbo’s this time: instead he pressed a kiss to his neck, nuzzling into the warm skin there and making him gasp. After a few more kisses peppered over his shoulder, he went for a bolder move and slowly licked a trail over Bilbo’s collar bone. The response was a soft moan, and so Thorin did it again, and again. He then lifted his head to peer up at Bilbo, knowing it was important to keep their communication going as things progressed.

“Would you like me to play with your nipples?” he said, voice rough with want, and God, even just saying that sentence was getting him hard… well, harder.

“Yes,” came Bilbo’s reply, with a definite hiss as Thorin’s hand travelled over his ribcage.

Keeping his lips hovering just above Bilbo’s collar bone, Thorin began to gently rub at one nipple with his thumb, feeling the pale brown nub harden almost instantly.

Bilbo let out a low moan. “Feels so good,” he whispered, and his breathing had definitely quickened, his chest rising sharply beneath Thorin’s hand.

Encouraged – and also a little relieved – Thorin began to roll the nipple between his finger and thumb, before pressing a kiss to Bilbo’s chest, his beard brushing against the other nipple, making him inhale with a grunt.

“Please, Thorin…” he gasped. “I want you to suck them.”

Bilbo’s words sent a bolt of pure, aching need crashing straight down between Thorin’s legs, and he didn’t need telling twice. Moving down Bilbo’s body, he gave the brown bud a few teasing laps and then took it between his lips, sucking at it gently, carefully. Bilbo began to squirm a little beneath him, his stomach shuddering against Thorin’s, and he let out another, longer groan.

Gently releasing the nipple, Thorin continued to rub the other with his thumb as he looked up at Bilbo’s glazed-over green eyes. “Is this okay?” he murmured, not wanting to break the spell his actions had clearly cast, but still wanting to make sure Bilbo was alright.

“Amazing,” Bilbo breathed, also sounding a little impatient, making Thorin smile.

“I’m glad,” he said, his hardening length just nudging Bilbo’s thigh as he moved to switch his attentions to the other nipple.

“You’re amazing,” Bilbo said, arching his back into Thorin’s touch, making his erection give a definite twitch, confirming his suspicions that Bilbo knew _exactly_ what he was doing to him.

Closing his lips around the nipple that had been hardened by his previous attentions, Thorin began sucking in earnest, trying not to chuckle as Bilbo tried to both wriggle into and away from the touch. He moved his free hand across his chest in a soothing motion, before lazily circling the other nub with his finger, moving in smaller and smaller rotations until he was massaging the wet peak.

Bilbo’s cock was growing harder, jutting up into Thorin’s stomach, and every so often he lowered himself, creating a beautiful friction of skin on skin, making Bilbo gasp and splutter. He was just about to do it again when he felt Bilbo’s hands on his shoulders. The nipple fell from his lips as he looked up questioningly, waiting for instructions.

“I… I think it’s your turn…” Bilbo’s voice was sounding coarse from so many heavy breaths.

Thorin let Bilbo pull him away from his chest and towards his lips, not seeming to mind the single string of saliva hanging from them, only devouring it as they kissed.

“That was wonderful,” he said, unable to hide his grin as his fingers traced Thorin’s bearded jaw. “Thank you.”

Thorin couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Bilbo felt the need to thank him. “I loved the sounds you were making,” he murmured, his lips brushing Bilbo’s, and he was surprised to see the hint of a blush creeping into his cheeks… and that only made him smile more.

“I can’t wait to hear the sounds you’re about to make,” Bilbo said, rather wickedly switching the attention back onto Thorin, making him straighten his arms so that he could look down at him properly.

Thorin opened his mouth to answer, but found he couldn’t quite manage anything coherent.

“All you have to do is tell me what you want,” Bilbo said, almost cooing as he stroked Thorin’s beard. “You deserve so much pleasure, Thorin… Just let me know what I can do for you.”

Bilbo’s fingers moved to his earlobe, caressing soft, reddening skin, and Thorin let out a huffed breath, closing his eyes, leaning further into the touch. In one of their sessions with Dr. Cox, Thorin had finally opened up about his more disappointing sexual experiences, about his inconsiderate lovers who had never asked him what it was he really wanted. Bilbo had been mortified, almost angry on his behalf… and he knew his boyfriend was wanting to make up for two decades’ worth of having his own pleasure pushed aside.

Thorin only wished his answer to this question wasn’t beginning to sound so repetitive, but when it came to Bilbo… well, there was always one thing he wanted.

Bilbo reached up and began stroking Thorin’s other ear now, clearly upping the ante in the wake of his continued silence. “Please," he said softly. “All you have to do is ask...”

Keeping his eyes closed for a moment longer, and letting out a sharper breath as Bilbo began to tickle the top of his ear where there had once been a piercing, Thorin tried to piece together a suitable response that would be neither embarrassing nor allude to the fact that he had asked for this on several occasions.

Unfortunately, what left his lips instead was a single word, said rather firmly: “Blowjob.”

Bilbo didn’t quite manage to conceal his laugh, but when he saw Thorin’s cheeks colouring, he was quick to reassure him: “Short and to the point,” he grinned. “And of course, love: you know I’ll never not want to go down on you… even when I’m eighty-five and arthritic.”

This time it was Thorin’s turn to laugh, and he chided himself for being so afraid to ask. “You might get stuck down there,” he replied, kissing Bilbo’s nose.

“Then won’t you be a lucky boy,” came Bilbo’s quick-fire retort, accompanied with a wink.

And then they were both leaning together and chuckling. Thorin felt the tension slowly ebbing from the tight muscles in his shoulders. He’d never laughed during sex before he met Bilbo… but this felt nice, this felt right.

“I’m just going to roll you onto your back,” Bilbo said, his voice low again.

He waited a beat before slowly repositioning them on the bed, carefully moving Thorin over so that his head was now resting on the pillow, his back pressing into the mattress. In the future, they might be able to make such switches without warning, but for now Thorin knew it would always be safer this way.

Bilbo was straddling his hips and he leaned forward, pulling him into another kiss, fingers once again running down his chest, just catching his nipples. Thorin shivered, opening his mouth into Bilbo’s kiss and searching out his tongue. He was now almost painfully hard, his cock pressing quite insistently into Bilbo’s thigh, but it appeared Bilbo was going to be taking his time.

Breaking their kiss, his lips slowly moved to Thorin’s ear. “I’m going to make this so good for you,” he said, breath hot against his skin. He then began to tease Thorin’s earlobe with his tongue, before taking it into his mouth and sucking, making him let out a low rumble of building pleasure.

Bilbo released Thorin’s earlobe with a deliciously wet sound that sent his erection twitching up once again against his thigh. Thorin was sure he heard Bilbo snigger just before his lips found his neck. His kisses were hot and stinging, and he sucked at the bristled skin, sometimes licking at his jaw or throbbing pulse point. Thorin tilted his head away, allowing Bilbo to nuzzle and lick and suck all the skin he wanted, and he felt his breaths growing heavier and heavier, the coil in his gut tightening, especially as Bilbo continued to reach up and massage his now very sensitive earlobes.

“ _Bilbo_ …” Thorin pleaded, fingers running lightly over Bilbo’s arms.

“Impatient, are we?” Bilbo said, and the glint was back in his eyes as his mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of kisses between Thorin’s hardening nipples.

His hand slid to Thorin’s abdomen, fingers softly raking over his skin, but stopping just before their intended destination. It was both maddening and everything Thorin could have asked for. But finally, _finally_ , Bilbo slid further down his body and settled himself between his legs.

“Make sure you keep talking to me,” Bilbo whispered, kissing the dark, downy hair on the inside of Thorin’s thigh. “Let me know if you need me to stop.”

Thorin could do nothing but nod as he gazed, dumbly, down at the vision of Bilbo between his knees, mouth hovering mere inches above his now throbbing length. A few more kisses were peppered over his thighs and then Bilbo was nuzzling into the base of his cock, his eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled.

Thorin’s head fell back against the pillow as he let out a low, long moan… and stopped. He realised then that there was no longer a need to be quiet: there was no chance they were going to be interrupted, no reason to press his fist to his mouth and bite at his knuckles in an attempt to be quiet. This was what true freedom felt like… and Thorin was sure as hell going to take advantage of that fact.

Bilbo’s tongue was suddenly licking a stripe up his shaft and Thorin’s fingers tightened around the bedsheets as he let out a distinct: “Fuck!”

And so Bilbo did the exact same thing again.

Hands clutching desperately at the sheets, Thorin let out a string of less comprehensible words as Bilbo’s thumb glided over the slick head of his cock, only to be quickly replaced by his tongue, swirling around the tip in an obscenely pleasurable motion.

“ _Bilbo_ ,” Thorin gasped again, this time less out of pleading, more out of a loss for anything else to say, and he was rewarded as Bilbo slowly, deliberately, took him into his mouth.

“ _Good_ ,” he ground out, because he wasn’t sure he was going to be advancing beyond single-syllables from this point onward, but this seemed to be enough for Bilbo, who began sucking him in earnest, his head bobbing up and down in a set rhythm that had Thorin’s whole body shuddering. One hand was now splayed out across his stomach, feeling the muscles manically tensing there, and the other, which had recently been wrapped around the base of his shaft, now moved to have a good fondle of his balls. Thorin let out another longer, louder moan.

It was then, dazed by dizzying pleasure, that Thorin realised this was all going to be over too soon, that this wasn’t what he wanted tonight. Dragging what remained of his senses back together, Thorin reached out, still feeling quite intoxicated, and with a heavy, trembling hand, he locked his fingers over Bilbo’s still laying on his stomach.

“Bilbo… Please…” he said, his voice almost a wheeze. “I… I don’t want to come just yet…”

Bilbo’s mouth stilled instantly and then he carefully withdrew, discreetly wiping his mouth on his arm as he crawled back up the bed and stretched out at Thorin’s side. Thorin greatly mourned the loss of Bilbo’s wonderful mouth, but he knew they were about to go on to bigger and better things.

“Those sounds you were making were divine,” Bilbo said quietly, kissing Thorin’s cheek, his hand drawing patterns across his chest as his breathing slowly evened out.

Thorin’s immediate thought was to point out that this was because they weren’t due a check, but then that made him think of Radagast, and he didn’t particularly want to be thinking about the elderly nurse at this point in time.

“Sorry I asked you to stop,” he mumbled, one arm wrapping around Bilbo’s naked back.

“That’s okay,” Bilbo replied, and his tone was careful again. “Are you ready now…?”

Thorin felt his stomach squirming a little again, but this time it was much more out of anticipation for the main event than out of anxiety. “I think so.” But then he suddenly tensed. In all the numbing haze of their kissing and undressing and _everything else_ , he had forgotten some fairly obvious essentials. “I, er, I haven’t brought anything for…” He trailed off, panic and disappointment stumbling about inside his stomach.

But Bilbo only smiled. “Everything we’re going to need for tonight is already in my bedside drawer.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“It turns out Dr. Cox also offers an ‘Unescorted Leave’ goodie bag,” Bilbo replied, grinning.

Thorin swallowed. “Oh… So we’ve got some…”

He trailed off as Bilbo rolled over and reached for his bedside drawer. Opening it, he quickly retrieved a bottle of rather stylishly-packaged lubricant and a few condoms in shiny square wrappers. “If there’s anything else you think we’ll need –”

“Er, no, no… these, um, these are fine…”

“Okay.” Bilbo’s fingers were trailing over Thorin’s stomach again.

“So…” Thorin coughed. “W-would you like me to, er, help you prepare…? Or would you… like to do that yourself…?”

When it came to Bilbo’s own pleasure, Thorin always let his boyfriend take the lead. Sometimes Bilbo wanted to get himself started before he let Thorin take over, and sometimes he preferred it if Thorin got involved in other ways, kissing him, touching and teasing his skin, playing with his nipples, until he brought himself to his own climax. Only once before had Thorin been involved from the start, and therefore he wanted to be careful.

“I’ve been doing some more homework,” Bilbo said, voice growing rougher again. “And tonight I think I’d really like you to prepare me… if that’s alright?”

“Of course,” Thorin whispered, feeling his cock begin to bob in anticipation. “You, er, you’d like me to use my fingers?”

“Actually, first I’d like to find out…” Bilbo’s fingers ran down Thorin’s beard and over his lips. “What this feels like.”

Thorin’s lips fell open in a soft ‘oh’ as Bilbo’s fingertips slid over them.

“Is that okay? I, er, I cleaned myself this afternoon.”

“… Oh, er, yes… it’s okay.”

Feeling quite light-headed again, Thorin watched, stupefied, as Bilbo rose onto his knees and began arranging the bed, moving two pillows down to the middle beside Thorin and plumping them, before lying down on his stomach, his arse lifted, very invitingly, into the air. Thorin was watching the proceedings, mouth hanging open slightly, and then all of a sudden Bilbo was looking at him with a pointedly raised eyebrow.

“Oh, er, right… Sorry…” Thorin quickly shuffled up onto his knees and moved around to get a better view of Bilbo’s bum. “Sorry…” he said again, but Bilbo only chuckled.

Taking a moment to simply admire the view, Thorin cleared his throat, which was now becoming very dry again. “Do… do you need me to, um, do anything?”

The answer might have seemed obvious, but this wasn’t quite the question Thorin was trying to ask. Bilbo, however, always had telepathy on his side. He moved his arm so that it was lying flat at his side and wiggled his fingers towards Thorin. “If you could hold my hand, just to keep me anchored for the first bit… But I’ll tell you if I need you to stop.”

“Okay,” Thorin said gently, taking Bilbo’s hand and threading their fingers together.

Feeling he should probably make up for his recent moments as a gormless idiot, Thorin decided that this should be done properly, and he did quite have a favour to return. Manoeuvring around and pressing his other hand into the mattress at Bilbo’s side, Thorin lowered himself down so that he could leave a soft kiss on Bilbo’s shoulder blade, his lips tracing the forked white scar there. Bilbo’s eyes were closed now and he let out a breath, almost a sigh, in response. Thorin then moved over and kissed his other shoulder blade, before gently licking and sucking at the skin between them. Bilbo shivered, fingers squeezing Thorin’s as he let out another long breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured into Bilbo’s neck, before kissing the skin just below his curls. “I love you.”

Bilbo gave a contented hum, and so Thorin continued to kiss, and suck, and lick his way down his back, delighting in how Bilbo shuddered and squirmed beneath him. When he reached the base of his spine, Thorin rocked back onto his knees and reached out to give his bum a good squeeze. He would’ve liked to use both hands, as inviting and cuppable as the cheeks looked, but he knew Bilbo needed an anchor for this and he wasn’t going to let go of his hand. Instead, he contented himself with alternately fondling the cheeks, moving from one to the other, and then back again, and Bilbo was still making the most delectable noises.

He then lowered himself so that he could kiss and lick the smooth skin… and stopped. He might need two hands for this: suffice to say he’d never done it one-handed before. As if sensing his hesitance, Bilbo’s fingers suddenly relinquished his.

“I’ll be alright, love, promise,” he said, words almost muffled by the bedsheets.

“You’re sure?”

“I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

With this reassurance, Thorin settled his hands on Bilbo’s bum and slowly parted the cheeks. His right thumb crept forward and brushed over the dark pink furl of muscle and Bilbo let out a gasp. Positioning himself carefully, Thorin let his beard graze, quite gratuitously, over Bilbo’s skin before his tongue tentatively lapped at his entrance. Bilbo wriggled in response, obviously holding himself back from pushing against Thorin’s tongue… not that Thorin could say he minded. Feeling emboldened, he began to lick and lather with enthusiasm, making sure to keep his beard rubbing over sensitive skin. Bilbo almost whined then, and the sound sent more shockwaves between Thorin’s legs as he squeezed Bilbo’s thighs, pushing his tongue with renewed determination against his hole.

He was almost ready to take Bilbo completely apart when he felt fingers reaching, blindly, for his hand. “Thorin… I… I need more…” Bilbo’s voice had a cracked, dreamy quality, and Thorin could never, ever refuse him.

“Fingers?” he murmured, smoothing a calming hand over the bottom of his back.

“Please…” Bilbo replied, staring down the bed at Thorin with a glazed-over, yet hungry look.

Retrieving the bottle of lube, Thorin made sure to give his fingers a generous coating, before returning to the very, very inviting sight before him.

“Okay?” he said, one hand coming to rest on Bilbo’s thigh.

Bilbo purposefully wriggled his knees further apart, lifting his bum in the process, and Thorin let out a laugh.

“Keep speaking to me,” he said softly. “Let me know what you need.”

With another, almost impatient, hum from Bilbo, Thorin slowly began to stroke his finger against his entrance, taking his time to ensure he was completely at ease before carefully sliding it slowly inside. Bilbo’s breathing had become noticeably laboured, his gasps sharper, and Thorin instantly stilled his finger, his free hand stroking Bilbo’s back.

“Okay?” he asked, brows knitted with concern.

“I’m fine,” came Bilbo’s quiet reply, and his eyes remained closed. “Just… just a bit out of practice.”

Thorin smiled at that. “You and me both… Do you want me to stop?”

“If you stop I’ll be very cross,” Bilbo said, peeking one eye open at Thorin, before adding, more seriously: “Just take your time for me.”

“Of course,” Thorin said, needing no excuse to relish such an intimate act.

And so take his time he did, preparing Bilbo with slow and deliberate care, leaning down every so often to kiss the bottom of his back or give his thighs a reassuring squeeze, savouring each of Bilbo’s moans and the way he said his name whilst he was lost in pleasure. Thorin enjoyed every single second of it, allowing himself to indulge in the closeness, the affection, the fact that the bed was like their own little island, a paradise inhabited by only them, with hours and hours stretching out before them, where every minute would go by undisturbed.

Thorin was pulled from his reverie by Bilbo’s breathy plea: “Thorin… I’m ready… Please…”

Slowly withdrawing his fingers and wiping them on his thigh, Thorin felt his heart begin its heavy thudding again and a new sense of anticipation tightened in his stomach. They had taken their time in getting here, both with the evening and with their relationship, but now it appeared the moment had finally arrived. The skin on Thorin’s arms began to prickle and he drew in a slow breath, trying to steady himself.

Bilbo had rolled onto his back and was now repositioning himself, his bum resting on top of the pillows. Thorin came and shuffled in between his knees, hands tentatively brushing over his thighs, his eyes drawn to Bilbo’s length, resting red and hardened against his stomach.

“I… I think I’d like us to be facing each other for this bit,” Bilbo said quietly, with a small smile as he reached down to touch Thorin’s fingers.

“Right… Okay…” Thorin found himself having another gormless moment, distracted as he was by the sight of Bilbo laid out before him like this.

“Condom?” Bilbo prompted, eyes still half-lidded from the pleasure of Thorin’s fingers.

“Oh…” Thorin managed to tear his eyes away from Bilbo long enough to locate a square of foil.

“Do you need any help?”

“No… No… I can do it.”

It took Thorin a grand total of fifteen seconds to realise he might actually need a little help. Aware that Bilbo was watching him, he turned his body away like a guilty puppy as he continued to fiddle with the damn wrapper. The foil was completely untearable no matter where he tried to rip it… and he swore there and then that he was going to hunt down whoever made this particular condom wrapper and smack them repeatedly with a plank of wood.

“Thorin…?”

“I can do it!” His voice came out high and frustrated, and he instantly regretted shouting. Colour was flooding his cheeks as he pulled at the foil again, only succeeding in moulding it into a warped, less-than-square shape.

Admitting defeat, Thorin looked to Bilbo, expression full of shame. “I… I’m ruining it… I’m sorry… I… I wanted this to be perfect and I’m fucking it up…”

“Oh, sweetheart, come over here,” Bilbo said, holding one hand out towards Thorin, who shuffled, rather sulkily, on his knees round to his side.

Thorin handed over the offending wrapper and was left completely unsurprised when Bilbo tore it open easily, fishing the condom out for them.

“You’re not ruining anything,” Bilbo said gently, and he rolled onto his side so that he could kiss Thorin’s thigh. “You’re not fucking up… And tonight was perfect from the moment it was just the two of us here, together… So no more talk like that.”

Bilbo kissed his thigh again and Thorin let out a slow breath, convincing himself that the crisis had been averted.

“Can I put this on for you?” Bilbo asked, his thumb tracing patterns just above Thorin’s knee.

Deciding this would probably be the safest course of action – if he couldn’t even get the bloody thing out of the wrapper, actually trying to put it on might prove even more disastrous – Thorin nodded. “Please.”

He let out an unexpected moan as Bilbo adeptly rolled the condom down over his half-hard cock. His erection had been bobbing steadily between his legs the whole time he had been preparing Bilbo, spurred on as he was by his boyfriend’s moans and words of encouragement… but now embarrassment seemed to be giving it other ideas.

Bilbo, however, was going to be having none of that. No sooner had he finished rolling the condom down than his fingers closed around Thorin’s length and he began to pump him with determined strokes, easily returning him to full hardness.

Thorin let out a few stuttered groans and he couldn’t quite stop himself from thrusting, rather shamelessly, into Bilbo’s fist.

“You are amazing,” Bilbo breathed, reaching up to pepper kisses over Thorin’s abdomen. “I love you… and you could never ruin this for me.”

Thorin reached out a reluctant hand to still Bilbo’s movements and looked down at him with a dazed smile. “I love you too,” he whispered, before adding a more hesitant: “Are you ready?”

Bilbo nodded, rolling away, onto his back, opening his legs so Thorin could move in between them. Having picked up the lube again, Thorin made sure he had thoroughly coated his cock before taking it in his hand and carefully lining himself up with Bilbo’s hole. After waiting a beat, eyes searching out Bilbo’s for silent permission, he then slowly pushed himself inside, trying not to moan as he sank down, almost overwhelmed by the heat of Bilbo around him.

And then Bilbo hissed in a breath and Thorin froze.

Looking up, he saw a definite wince on his boyfriend’s face. “Bilbo?” he said, tone panicked.

“I… I’m fine… Just getting used to you,” Bilbo murmured. “It’s been about five years since I’ve done this… I just need a moment or two…”

Thorin stayed completely still, the pleasure clashing against the fear as Bilbo drew in a few deeper breaths, trying to get himself to relax.

After one long minute of waiting, Bilbo’s eyes found his. “It’s okay… We’ll just take this slowly.”

Nodding, Thorin waited another moment before carefully pushing forward again… but then he saw the discomfort flicker over Bilbo’s face and he stopped.

“Bilbo…”

“I’m alright, love… this bit is always a little uncomfortable,” he said, voice warm as he tried to reach for Thorin.

“No.”

“Thorin –”

“I’m hurting you!” Thorin cried, feeling his face grow hot. “I… I can’t hurt you, Bilbo… I promised I never would…”

“Oh, Thorin…” Bilbo reached for him again, and this time Thorin let himself be pulled down into an embrace, aware that he was still seated inside him, but there was no more discomfort in Bilbo’s expression, only love.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin whispered, his voice catching.

Bilbo shushed him and held his face in his hands. “Maybe this isn’t the best position for us,” he said gently. “Maybe it would be better if I got on top?”

Thorin went very still at this suggestion, feeling a cold knot tighten in his stomach. He could count the number of times he’d bottomed on one hand, and none of those times had been particularly pleasant.

At first, Bilbo seemed confused by his boyfriend’s terrified expression, but then he let out a soft laugh. “Thorin, I meant that I would get _on top of you_ , not that I’d expect you to bottom.”

“Oh…” Relief released the knot in Thorin’s stomach and heat crept back into his cheeks.

“If I’m on top, I’ll be able to set the pace so you know you’re not hurting me,” Bilbo explained carefully. “I think I might be more comfortable too… Does that sound good?”

“Yes,” Thorin said, taking a few deep breaths. “Please…”

“Just roll onto your back for me.”

Thorin slipped from Bilbo as he turned and lay down on his back, but then Bilbo was straddling his thighs, one hand reaching for his cock and stroking it again as he got himself into position.

“Okay, I’ll just get myself comfy,” Bilbo said, flashing Thorin a wicked grin as he aligned his length with his entrance, before slowly sinking himself down, taking all of Thorin in without a flicker of discomfort. “Oh… that’s much better,” he murmured, seeming to be holding back a moan.

Thorin, however, let the low, long sound slip past his lips. He couldn’t deny how amazing it was to feel Bilbo around him again, the almost-burning heat making his whole body tense and shudder… and when Bilbo slowly began to rock up from his knees, Thorin was sure he saw stars burst behind his eyes.

“Bilbo… _Christ_ …” Thorin’s hands groped blindly for something to stop him falling apart, and then fingers were closing around his and guiding his hands to the soft curves of thighs. Thorin’s hands moved with Bilbo as he began to ride him with a controlled but electrifying rhythm, the gorgeous slapping sound of skin meeting skin sending bolts through Thorin’s entire body.

Bilbo braced one hand against Thorin’s trembling stomach and let out a low, rumbling moan, and when he angled himself _just right_ , his head was suddenly thrown back as the sweet spot inside him was hit again and again. It was the most beautiful picture of ecstasy Thorin had ever seen.

His breaths coming sharp and fast now, Thorin screwed up his eyes, groaning and squeezing Bilbo’s thighs, and he couldn’t help but lift himself up from the mattress, beginning to thrust in time with Bilbo’s rocking. His movements were tentative at first, but as soon as Bilbo started gasping his name, he knew that they were welcomed.

Feeling the first trickle of sweat slide down his neck, Thorin opened his eyes and looked up at Bilbo, whose own eyes remained closed in pleasure… and suddenly he seemed so very far away, not close enough to kiss, not close enough to hold. Fighting against his pants, Thorin tried to get his broken voice to rise above their laboured breathing: “Bilbo… Bilbo, I need…”

Bilbo slowed above him, opening his eyes and searching Thorin out. It only took a second for him to understand. “Come here, love… Sit up with me…”

He carefully helped Thorin pull himself into a sitting position so that he was now straddling his lap, the two of them still very much joined. Sliding his arms around him, Bilbo kissed a trail up Thorin’s neck before whispering: “Better?”

Thorin turned, seeking out Bilbo’s lips and mashing their mouths together in an almost desperate kiss as his hands slid over the sweaty skin of Bilbo’s back, feeling the water dripping between his shoulder blades. “Better,” he breathed.

And then Bilbo rose slowly onto his knees before sinking back down, taking all of Thorin with him. Thorin moaned into his neck, clutching at him, as if for dear life, as Bilbo picked up his pace, encouraging Thorin to thrust with him. They were working truly in sync now, their bodies firmly pressed together, hands slipping over burning skin and beautiful scars, lips meeting, then moving away, then meeting again, both of them lost in pleasure, lost in the sensation and heady scent of their love-making… and Thorin knew Bilbo had been right all along: this was perfect. Just the two of them, mirroring each other’s movements, giving each other greater pleasure than they’d ever experienced with anyone else, completely joined, completely equal, heartbeats thudding against each other’s chests.

The tears came then. Quietly, but quickly. Thorin’s eyes began to prickle and his vision grew blurry. He closed his eyes, squeezing the saltwater from their corners and letting it dribble down his cheeks. Bilbo didn’t comment and Thorin didn’t feel he needed to: after all, they weren’t tears of pain or sorrow, but of pure and perfect happiness.

Thorin had felt the coil of pleasure growing tighter and tighter in the pit of his stomach as he directed greater energy into his thrusts, and now he knew he’d be lost within the minute. Pulling Bilbo against him, he swallowed back a moan, forcing himself to speak: “I… I’m close… Really close…”

Bilbo planted messy kisses over his shoulder. “That’s okay,” he said, voice scratchy and raw. “You can come, sweetheart… I’m right here.”

Screwing up his eyes, Thorin felt a tell-tale shudder as Bilbo suddenly clenched around him, and the coil was almost as tight as it could go: he was close, so very, very close…

And Bilbo’s fingers were rubbing at his ears. “Come for me, Thorin,” he whispered into his neck. “I want you to come for me.”

Never one to deny Bilbo anything, Thorin let go only a moment later with everything that he had. His orgasm crashed into him with such dizzying force, he thought he might fall from the bed, but Bilbo kept him steady, kept his arms wrapped around him and rode through the release with him, murmuring soothing words of love and encouragement and praise.

Thorin found he couldn’t quite catch his breath and he kept gasping for air, but Bilbo continued to talk him through it, coming to a stop in his lap and holding him whilst he sank forward, boneless and exhausted, resting his forehead against his shoulder. And then, after a moment of quiet, Bilbo slowly lifted himself, letting Thorin’s softening cock settle between them.

But Thorin didn’t stay still for very long. Finally able to draw in a deeper breath, he straightened up, one hand cupping Bilbo’s cheek. “What can I do?” he said, watching him intently.

“I… I think I need to finish this one off myself,” Bilbo replied breathlessly, pupils still completely blown with pleasure. “But… you can still touch me, help me out?”

“Of course.”

“And… you’ll talk me through it?”

“Always.”

Thorin knew it might be a while before Bilbo was able to give himself over to him completely during sex, but that didn’t matter: what mattered to him was that Bilbo got as much pleasure out of this as he had, and he was just happy to be making sure this happened.

Bilbo’s cock had remained untouched throughout their love-making and now it was flushed and leaking as he wrapped his fingers around it, beginning to stroke himself with ardour. He braced himself with one hand on Thorin’s shoulder and leaned forward, panting into the sweaty skin at the crook of his neck.

Thorin’s hands travelled slowly over the plains of Bilbo’s back before moving between them, his fingers brushing over his still-sensitive nipples, making him let out a stuttered gasp.

“Doing so well, love,” Thorin said, tone quiet and warm as he continued to tease his nipples. “You’re so close now, so close… and you look so beautiful like this… Just let yourself go… let yourself come…”

Only a moment later, Bilbo did just that. The moan was pressed into the side of Thorin’s mouth as his release splattered over his stomach, and his hand fell away as he became limp, panting and shuddering in Thorin’s arms.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” he mumbled, running his hands over Bilbo’s arms. “You’re safe, you’re safe here with me…”

The tears returned as Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo again, listening as his breathing slowed. He wasn’t going to move his hands from Bilbo so that he could wipe them away. Instead, he let the tears dribble freely down his cheeks as he fought a bizarre urge to laugh.

“Perfect,” he whispered into Bilbo’s curls. “It was perfect.”

Eventually, Bilbo stirred and when he lifted his eyes, Thorin saw that the green was shining with tears.

“You too?” Bilbo asked, reaching up to gently wipe the water away.

Thorin nodded, before actually letting himself chuckle, and Bilbo snorted. They sat in a surreal silence for a long time, words seeming quite meaningless in the hazy, almost-luminous aftermath of their first time together.  They communicated instead through small, brief touches and light kisses as the lingering tingles of pleasure ebbed away beneath them.

“I’ve made a bit of a mess,” Bilbo stated finally.

Before Thorin could comment, he was unfolding his legs from under him.

“I, er, I can sort this out…” Thorin began, but Bilbo batted his hand away, slowly peeling the used condom from him and staggering over to the en-suite bathroom.

Thorin waited, listening to the clatter of the small metal bin and the sounds of running water. Bilbo reappeared with a flannel, having clearly just wiped himself down and intending to give Thorin the same treatment. He returned to the bed and began to slowly wipe Thorin’s still-tingling skin. The flannel was toasty and warm and just what Thorin needed… and, for God’s sake, he scolded himself, stop thinking about Radagast. He really hoped Bilbo’s telepathy wasn’t active right now.

Once he was satisfied, Bilbo rose and returned the flannel to the bathroom. Thorin felt his loss more keenly the second time, and so when Bilbo reappeared in the bedroom, he had already pulled back the covers and slipped underneath the duvet, leaving plenty of space for Bilbo to do the same, which he did without needing to be asked.

Happy to have Bilbo back in his arms, Thorin tangled their legs together and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead. “Love you,” he mumbled, feeling the siren-weight of sleep and satiation slowly creeping over his heavy limbs.

“Love you,” Bilbo echoed, letting out a soft yawn. “…We should check on Dain and Sting.”

“In a minute,” Thorin replied, keeping his eyes closed, pulling Bilbo back against his chest.

They were quiet for a few moments and then he felt Bilbo shuddering. His eyes snapped open, only to find that Bilbo was actually laughing.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The look on your face when you thought I was asking you to bottom,” Bilbo whispered, holding the laugh tight behind his voice, as he pulled an exaggerated expression of terror.

Thorin gave him a playful shove. “I didn’t look like that.”

“You did.”

“Well… maybe I don’t enjoy bottoming.”

“… You might.”

“Are you suggesting something?”

“Maybe.”

Thorin wasn’t sure he liked the way Bilbo was looking at him, but he was too happy and exhausted to care. He wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s waist and closed his eyes again, breathing slowly and deeply. He was sure he was going to wake up tomorrow wondering if this evening had happened at all, but no matter, because in the morning Bilbo would be there to remind him that it had, and to remind him that tonight they had seen what had once been another looming obstacle slowly crumble into a fine dust, swirling and catching on a breeze, before eventually disappearing down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dispenses complimentary fans* 
> 
> So, this chapter was very much outside of my writing comfort zone, and I want to thank Gaaladrieel for putting up with me and reading snippets whilst I whinged and whined my way through this absolute beast of a chapter. 
> 
> She has also been kind enough to create the most beautiful edit for the Obstacles!Verse series, which you can find here:  
> http://gaaladrieel.tumblr.com/post/150637357200/obstaclesverse-by-mistakenmagic-bilbo
> 
> And I’ve tried my hand at beta-ing for the first time, editing her absolutely amazing autumnal fic. Please do check it out, guys, and there’s also a wonderful illustration by the lovely Rutobuka:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/8238275?view_adult=true
> 
> I’m also beyond thrilled to announce that ‘Dust in the Road’ has already received a gorgeous piece of fanart. Shipsicle has done the most amazing job rendering Bilbo with Sting on the way to his lecture:  
> http://shipsicle.tumblr.com/post/150699647495/guys-guys-guys-the-first-chapter-of-dust-in-the
> 
> Thank you all so much for the truly overwhelming response to the first chapter of this fic, I have to say: it does feel very good to be back!
> 
> Coming up next: I’m giving you the Holy Trinity in these first three chapters with fluff, smut, and then I’m afraid we’ll be entering quite angsty territory with a chapter from Rosie’s POV… Unsurprisingly, I’m very much looking forward to writing it ;)


	3. September, 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Now, Morvidra and GaiaYukari85 asked for a chapter from a minor character’s POV, so I decided to try my hand at Rosie’s perspective. This update covers three Septembers from the Obstacles!Verse: September, 2013 (before Thorin came to Ered Luin), September, 2014 (set during the main story), and September 2015 (five months after the first chapter of DITR). 
> 
> Rosie’s Playlist, which I listened to whilst writing:
> 
> ‘Workin’ Woman’s Blues’ – Valerie June  
> ‘Full of Fire’ – Jess Chambers  
> ‘This Year’ – The Mountain Goats  
> ‘No Rest for the Wicked’ – Lykke Li  
> ‘Little Talks’ – Of Monsters and Men  
> ‘No Rest’ – Dry The River 
> 
> Warning: Please be aware that the ‘September 2013’ section features a dissociative episode and the ‘September 2014’ section includes Bilbo’s suicide attempt. This is a heavy update, folks, so do take care of yourselves and let me know if you would like a trigger-free summary of this chapter.

**_September, 2013_ **

 

Rosie brushed her fingertips over the skin again, following the raised, jagged line that slithered up from the curve of her hip to her stomach. This newly-appeared stretchmark kind of looked like Harry Potter’s scar… if it had been drawn in crayon by a three-year-old pressing too hard on the paper. God, wouldn’t the books have been shit if Harry’s scar had been on his hip instead of his forehead? _Harry Potter and the Unwelcome Stretchmark: A book for women in their late twenties who are having an existential crisis because of their mirror-fronted wardrobes_.

She wouldn’t have even noticed this latest addition to her patchy forest of stretchmarks if it hadn’t been for her mirror-fronted wardrobes and, oh, what a curse they were. When the estate agent had showed her round the apartment three years ago, he had winked at her and intimated that having wall-high mirrors opposite your bed had quite a few perks. In all that time, she’d only ever had one man in her bed and all it had led to was her noticing that his back hair seemed, oddly enough, to be growing in the shape of a Christmas tree.

Standing in only her underwear, Rosie narrowed her eyes at her hip. The majority of her other stretchmarks, that spread over her thighs and the bottom of her back, were silver and pale pink, intersecting like lines on a roadmap. This new stretchmark, however, was an angry purplish-red, like a wound. She told herself that this might be due to the dim lighting, the sun not yet risen and the bedroom still being two out of four lightbulbs down because she hadn’t yet found the time or energy to change them. If only the bank would actually make its bloody mind up about her loan and then she’d be able to start looking for her own house: a proper home, to decorate, to settle down, to really live. She might also be able to join in with all the other nurses’ discussions about mortgages and wallpaper samples and bathroom tiles. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel, at twenty-eight, like such a fraudulent adult. And when she finally did buy a house, there wouldn’t be a mirror-fronted wardrobe in sight.

Rosie stayed standing in front of her reflection for a few moments longer, finding that she wasn’t sure she could actually bring herself to move, to get dressed, to go to work and go through the motions. She was tired… and this week had been harder than most. Radagast had sent her home the moment she walked in through the door on Tuesday: he knew what day it was and he thought she should spend it taking care of herself, not other people. This approach didn’t quite take into account the fact that Rosie felt she was far, far better at taking care of other people than she was of taking care of herself. But no, it seemed people believed that the six year anniversary of your dad being left to bleed to death on the side of the road warrants a day off from work.

And what an absolutely shitty day off it had been. She had wrapped herself in her duvet and lay on the sofa for about eight hours, before dragging the duvet the few metres back into her bedroom and going to sleep. The only saving grace had been that her mother hadn’t called, not that Rosie expected her to. She hadn’t called last year either, not after the year before when Rosie had screamed at her down the phone and called her an ungrateful, selfish bitch. After leaving her and her dad when she was only a toddler and buggering off to Italy, she had had the audacity to ask about her dad’s will, if there had been anything left to her.

Letting out a slow breath, Rosie forced herself to slide open the mirror-door and pull out her scrubs, trainers and socks. She got dressed slowly, coming to a complete stop at points without actually realising, until she shook herself back into the present. Standing up, the thought sluggishly slipped into the forefront of her mind: _I might be getting depressed again_. The thought was received casually, with little reaction. And the irony that came with it wasn’t pleasing, only ironic.

She retrieved a hairbrush and band from her dressing table and dragged her curls back into a tight ponytail. Yesterday’s make-up had vacated her eyes and was now bruised over her cheeks. However, when she wiped it away she found that much of the greyness and shadow remained: a tell-tale sign of familiar, perpetual exhaustion. Having no will to actually do her make-up properly, Rosie cheated and quickly applied a couple of coats of mascara… although she did slip her eyeshadow and liner into the front pocket of her rucksack on the bed. Maybe she’d have time to put it on at work, if she was feeling a little more awake and energised. She might even be able to convince Bilbo to do her eyeliner for her, seen as she was fairly crap at getting it to look even remotely even.

This would, of course, be an excuse to speak to Bilbo about her wank of a week. Being able to speak to Bilbo was always an incentive to roll herself out of bed in a morning. They may joke about Bilbo being one of the hospital’s unpaid therapists, but it was true. Both staff and patients took comfort in their enigmatic, curly-haired soldier, one of the hospital’s longest-serving residents. But for Rosie, it went a little beyond that. She knew that she had very few actual friends, and last year she had finally accepted the truth: that the closest thing she had to a decent friend was one of the chronic depressive patients at the psychiatric ward where she worked. This fact probably should have bothered her more than it did. But things were what they were. She was always careful: she never crossed any professional or confidential lines with Bilbo, although she had received a few words of caution from Dr. Grey and Radagast over the years, and it never stopped her from doing her job, from treating other patients, from being a damn good nurse. For there was the only shining light in the mess that was her life: she knew, and was proud of the fact, that she was very, very good at her job.

Sometimes this was enough. Sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes she left the hospital feeling triumphant, almost feeling a little infallible, and sometimes she ran into old friends from school who were shocked to discover she was ‘just a nurse’. And there was the wound that, similar to the stretchmarks lacing her thighs, would never quite fade. When she didn’t achieve the grades to get into Leeds University’s School of Medicine, she had cried for three weeks straight. It had been her dad who had helped her through that dark period, convinced her that this wasn’t the end of the world, and helped her apply for about nine different nursing qualifications. Her dad had helped set her on a different path, one that was clear and purposeful and determined, and then he had died only a few months after she reached the end of it. Afterwards, the next path she followed had seemed overgrown and full of traps and terrors.

Sliding the wardrobe door shut again, Rosie could no longer see her stretchmark, but she could almost feel it beneath her blue scrubs, throbbing there like a vein. It was with a sigh that she decided to shove her swimming costume and towel into her work rucksack: owing to the tumbleweed bouncing along through her social calendar, she would have plenty of time to go to the pool after work, and she was sure the swim would do her good. Of course, she knew she had been putting off going to the pool due to an overly cheery divorcee named Peter. She had soon discovered there was very little escape from someone intent on talking to you when you were sharing a lane in the pool. Peter was a lovely bloke, friendly and never overly assertive, but maybe this was the problem: she needed him to be assertive so she could actually, explicitly turn him down and explain that the only thing they had in common was the fact that they both preferred breast stroke over front crawl.

Rosie zipped her bag shut and picked up her keys and her phone. She would feel better when she got into work. She knew she would. Swinging the rucksack onto her shoulder, she slotted her headphones into her ears, put on ‘This Year’ by The Mountain Goats, and went to catch her bus.

 

…

 

The bus pulled into the stop in front of Ered Luin just as the September sky was relinquishing the last of its darkness to the horizon and it was now painted a muddied mixture of pink and blue with streaks of red. Rosie stepped from the bus and took a moment to admire it, knowing it would be dark again by the time she left the hospital. The change-over was in full flow and she joined all the doctors and nurses coming to relieve the night shift as they made their way through the automatic doors into the hospital’s reception. Rosie shared a lift with a junior doctor, two nurses, and a porter, and was quite glad they didn’t notice the unpleasant sound she made when the lift suddenly lurched on its way to the fourth floor: she’d eaten a cereal bar on the bus – part of being a respectable adult, it seemed, was eating breakfast every morning – but now she was feeling a little sick. Maybe coffee would help. But that would have to wait until her break now, and God knows when that would be.

Buzzing herself through onto the ward, she headed into the nurses’ office to drop her rucksack off in her locker and just double-check her hair and hastily-applied mascara in the mirror. Satisfied that her appearance fell into the ‘acceptable’ category, she returned to the ward to join the huddle that was forming by the nurses’ station as everyone prepared for hand-over.

“Morning, Rad,” Rosie said quietly, slipping into the circle next to Radagast. “You leading this one?”

“I am indeed,” the older nurse said, sounding far too perky for someone just finishing up their third night shift of the week. But that was what Rosie liked about him: she needed Rad to balance her out.

Radagast cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention and then went through the routine motions of their daily hand-over, which involved going through each patient’s care, discussing any causes for concern, any change in obs, any incidents during the night. Rosie always hated this bit, whichever shift she was working, because she knew that she was waiting for Bilbo’s name, hoping every time that there was nothing serious to report, that she hadn’t missed anything. This morning brought relief in that it appeared Bilbo had got his usual three or four hours of sleep… but there was also the elephant in the room that Rad touched upon with tact, so as to avoid fuelling any more gossip. Graham hadn’t left Bilbo’s room until one o’ clock that morning, and even then it had been reluctantly, causing some agitation. Everyone knew the grey-haired soldier was absolutely besotted with Bilbo, but they were under strict instructions not to discuss this with either patient, they knew that Dr. Grey was aware, and they were only to keep an eye on it. Rosie didn’t miss the looks their team exchanged whilst both Bilbo and Graham were discussed.

“Right, I think that’s it, have a good day everyone,” Radagast said, clapping his hands together.

Everyone scattered, moving to their assigned bays to carry out obs and checks, some going to answer the phones that were already ringing again, others going to catch up with doctors who had just completed their own hand-over in front of the office. Rosie watched as Beorn made his way to Graham’s room, and she jumped when she felt Rad’s hand on her arm.

“Alright?” he asked quietly.

Rosie nodded, smiling. “I’m fine, Rad… Promise.”

“Want me to hang about a bit? Get you a coffee?”

“No, no, you get yourself home and get some sleep!” Rosie replied, grinning now. “And I’ll see you this evening.”

“Of course… Bilbo needs his breakfast menu collecting,” Radagast said, a rather knowing glint in his eyes.

“I’m on it.” Rosie started moving towards Bilbo’s room. “Now go home!”

Bilbo was sitting crossed-legged against his pillows with a book open in his lap. Rosie could just make out the cover, its title was written in Spanish… and this was why she never wanted to get on Bilbo’s bad side: she thought she was right to be wary of someone who could call her out on her bullshit in five different languages.

The grey hoodie was zipped up to his neck this morning and Rosie focused on keeping her expression neutral: Bilbo would lock onto her frown quicker than a bloodhound onto a scent. She would, however, scribble this down into Bilbo’s notes in the box at the end of his bed. It was strange, how Rosie’s work as a psychiatric nurse depending upon symbols, on the tiniest change in body language, or on a single word. But she had become very good at reading each of her patients… and that was why she knew that, despite having known each other for three years now, despite the number of times she had stripped his sheets, and held him through an episode, and stopped him ripping the hair right out of his head, Bilbo would lie to her in a heartbeat. Sometimes she could tell when he was lying, sometimes she couldn’t. And some days this frustrated her no end. She was a damn good nurse, she was very, very good at her job… but she couldn’t help Bilbo Baggins. And this was a fact she was reminded of every single time she stepped foot in his room.

“You’re brooding,” Bilbo murmured, peering up at her with a warm smile.

“Well, it is one of my few hobbies,” Rosie grinned, snapping back to herself and lifting Bilbo’s notes from the box at the end of his bed.

“I’m not complaining, but I do usually get a ‘Good Morning’ before you start your brooding.”

“Good morning, Bilbo,” Rosie said, hoping her teasing tone masked the fact that she was noting the warning sign of the hoodie zip, ready for Dr. Grey’s morning check. Bilbo’s hoodie was his suit of armour, and the higher up the zip, the more threatened he felt. Slipping the notes back into the box, she came to Bilbo’s side and he offered his wrist without comment so she could check his pulse.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. It was a loaded question: Bilbo knew why she hadn’t been in work on Tuesday, but she didn’t really want to talk about it.

“Yep, fine,” she said, avoiding looking him in the eye as she stared down at her fob watch. Bilbo’s pulse was a little fast.

“So today’s a mascara-only day?”

Rosie gently released Bilbo’s wrist. She knew he was intimating that there were reasons for her not having the energy to properly get ready this morning and it made her bristle. But seen as snapping at patients was generally frowned upon, she opted instead for light-hearted sarcasm: “Uh-huh, and today is also ‘Bring Your Existential Angst to Work Day’… How am I doing so far?”

Bilbo chuckled, before adding a low “Sorry”.

Rosie collected Bilbo’s breakfast menu from his bedside table. “I’m glad this week is almost over and I hate my mirror-fronted wardrobes,” she said, hoping this would be enough information to satisfy him. “Also, are you up for doing some deceptive eyeliner when I’m on my break so I don’t look as crap as I feel?”

“Of course,” Bilbo smiled.

Rosie nodded, before taking a beat to turn the focus of their conversation back onto Bilbo. “Your pulse is a little fast… How are you feeling this morning?”

Bilbo hummed. “I’m alright, feel pretty well-rested actually.”

Lie.

“Radagast said you got about three or four hours last night… No headaches since you woke up?”

“My head felt a bit sore, but it was only about a one or a two.”

Lie.

“Is it still bothering you now?”

“No, no, it disappeared about an hour ago.”

Possibly a lie.

It was a horrific truth, but Rosie knew Bilbo liked to downplay his headaches because he didn’t want to be medicated for them: he wanted the pain there to endure, to suffer, and to therefore endlessly try to atone. But for what, Rosie wasn’t even close to understanding. No one was. Bilbo and Dr. Grey had reached a stalemate years ago and now here they were in No Man’s Land, neither side willing to budge an inch… and here was Rosie, fighting in the hospital’s daily battle that waged secretly, silently in the background of everything: keeping Bilbo Baggins alive.

“Bilbo,” Rosie said softly, her voice without teasing, or humour, only the concern she knew he hated. “Can I get you something for your headache?”

At first she thought he was going to fight her on this one, but after a few tense moments, he relented. “Please.”

Rosie smiled: it was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. “I’ll get Dr. Burrows to sort you out with something while I pop this into the kitchen.”

“Oh, Rosie, if you could just wait… Graham will be here in a minute and he’ll probably have his menu with him.”

Rosie stopped, and she knew she was frowning… but she still tried to choose her words carefully. “If you’d like some space this morning, I don’t mind speaking to Graham for you.”

Bilbo took a beat to answer: “No, it’s fine, I don’t mind.”

Lie.

“At hand-over, Radagast said he was in your room until quite late last night,” Rosie murmured, aware that they were now approaching dangerous territory. Bilbo was starting to pick at his hoodie’s sleeve.

But he only shrugged. “He had a rough day yesterday, giving him a bit of company was the least I could do.”

“But you don’t need to do anything, Bilbo,” Rosie pressed, as the elephant loomed large on the periphery of their conversation. “Graham’s wellbeing isn’t your responsibility.”

 _Hypocrite_ , a voice in Rosie’s head sneered, and she knew Bilbo was thinking the same… which was probably why she went on the defensive and the next, very ill-chosen words left her lips: “And you do know you can just tell him that you’re not interested?”

Bilbo’s expression grew stony and his voice was tight as he retorted: “And you do know you can just tell Peter that you’re not interested?”

Well, I walked right into that one, Rosie thought, letting out a slow breath. “I’m sorry,” she said, expression contrite. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I’m sorry too, that was unfair of me,” Bilbo replied quietly. “But Graham isn’t mentally strong enough to handle a rejection just yet, and I don’t want to be responsible for his relapse.”

Rosie opened her mouth, but then promptly closed it. She couldn’t argue with that: as ever, Bilbo was right. Instead, they exchanged smiles, signalling their truce. Bilbo looked about to say something when his eyes slipped beyond Rosie to his doorway.

“Morning, Graham,” Bilbo said, greeting the older soldier, his mask now firmly in place.

Graham shuffled into the room and then pulled himself straight up onto the end of Bilbo’s bed, folding his legs under him in what Rosie suspected was a conscious mirroring of Bilbo’s own crossed-legged posture. And that was when she clocked the scratches on the backs of both his hands: some had clearly already been treated, but others were fresher. They could have only appeared in the past half hour judging by the flaking skin and their raw, red colour. His fingers were also shaking, the tremor more violent in his left hand, and a sickly, unsettling feeling sprouted in the pit of Rosie’s stomach.

“Morning,” Graham mumbled, gaze resting in his lap, but this wasn’t unusual: he wasn’t so big on making eye contact with anyone at the moment.

“Hi, Rosie,” he added, and Rosie did her best not to stiffen: she knew it might not have been intended, but the way Graham said those two words, well, he might as well have just told her to sod off. But this was to be expected, Graham clearly didn’t want to share and she knew she was being dismissed.

“Shall I take your breakfast menu, get them both off to the kitchens?” she asked breezily, holding her hand out for the menu in Graham’s hand, avoiding commenting on its shaky, pencilled ticks.

“Thanks,” Graham answered, still not looking up at her as he continued to study his scratched hands.

“I’ll check back soon.” Rosie cast a glance at Bilbo as she headed out of the room, but he only smiled.

Menus in hand and still unable to shake the ominous feelings growing in her stomach, Rosie stopped Dr. Burrows, the ward’s answer to _Grey’s Anatomy_ ’s ‘McDreamy’, at the nurses’ station. “Dr. Burrows?”

The registrar smiled as he collected a file from the station. “Rosie, what can I do for you?”

“I noticed some scratches on the backs of Graham’s hands,” she replied quietly, moving closer to make their conversation more private.

“Yes,” Dr. Burrows said, expression solemn. “I cleaned them up this morning; Dr. Grey has been notified.”

“But there are fresh scratches: ones that haven’t been cleaned.”

Dr. Burrows frowned. “Right, I’ll make sure I take another look.”

Rosie nodded at his answer, but didn’t move from the station, prompting a questioning glance from the doctor. Lowering her voice, but still well aware that Bilbo could lip-read, Rosie turned her back to his room. “I know Bilbo and Graham are both on two-thirty obs… but whilst they’re in each other’s rooms, I think that should be upped to one-B obs.”

At hand-over, Radagast had stated that Bilbo and Graham were still to be checked on every thirty minutes, but given Graham’s agitated state that morning and his difficult day yesterday, Rosie felt this warranted a one-B obs: he and Bilbo should be within eyesight of a member of staff at all times.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” Dr. Burrows replied, surprising her. “Graham is always much calmer when he’s with Bilbo. I don’t think there’s any cause for concern.”

“But Graham’s tremor is worse this morning… and the scratches…” Rosie said, aware that these were quite lame protests, that she wasn’t being very eloquent with what she was really trying to communicate.

“I’ll pop in and see Graham, don’t worry,” Dr. Burrows replied, and Rosie had to fight to keep her composure when she noticed he was using his patronising ‘Doctor Knows Best’ voice.

Before she had chance to respond, the registrar was called away by a junior and he left the station without another word.

“Nurse? Excuse me, nurse?”

Rosie’s eyebrow was already raised before she turned round to find Dr. Haldir March, this year’s hopeless case of an F1, standing by the nurses’ station as if he were at a hotel reception and the bell hadn’t been answered.

“Rosie,” Rosie said, folding her arms and eyeing him carefully.

“…What?”

“My name is Rosie… and as you’ve been working here for almost two months now, there is no reason why you wouldn’t know that.”

Rosie waited as the junior doctor’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly, but it appeared she wouldn’t be receiving an apology… or any acknowledgement of the correction. From speaking to other nursing staff it seemed Dr. March had definitely missed the Med School lecture entitled ‘Don’t Piss Off Nurses 101’.

“Can I help you with something, Dr. March?” Rosie prompted, when it was clear the doctor wasn’t going to give her a response.

“Oh, er, well… You know communicating with Bifur isn’t particularly easy and he’s becoming quite distressed,” Dr. March explained, and if Rosie didn’t know any better she would say the doctor was a second away from suggesting this was _Bifur’s fault_.

“Right, what’s he signing?” she asked.

“Erm…” Dr. March reached up and touched his chest, bringing his hand out in a crude imitation of the BSL sign for ‘white’.

“That’s Dr. Lorien’s sign name,” Rosie replied, brows knitted. How did the junior doctor not know that?

“Oh, and he was making this gesture quite a lot…”

Rosie watched as Dr. March repeatedly made the sign for ‘arsehole’. “I think that might be your sign name,” she deadpanned.

“I see,” Dr. March said seriously.

Forcing herself to keep a straight face, Rosie added: “You did attend the induction, didn’t you? With the BSL interpreter who goes through the common signs that Bifur uses?”

“Yes, yes, I just… Well, I haven’t really been able to find the time to get the hang of it.”

Rosie decided against mentioning all the BSL classes she had attended at Leeds Uni after thirteen-hour shifts. “I think you need to go and find Dr. Lorien.”

“Right, yes, thank you, Rachel.”

Dr. March was stopped in his tracks by Rosie’s sharp: “Was that a joke?”

The doctor at least had the decency to look a little worried. “No?”

“Rosie, my name is Rosie,” Rosie said, her voice dangerously low. “And I get that I don’t have a medical degree, that I’m ‘just a nurse’… but you do realise you actually triggered Tom’s episode yesterday and I covered for you, so the least you can do is learn my name.”

Dr. March’s mouth was opening and closing again, and he looked pale as he finally answered: “I didn’t trigger his episode.”

Rosie moved closer to the doctor and whispered: “Yes, you did… You know Tom’s girlfriend left him last week and you decided to start talking to him about ‘all the girls loving a soldier’.”

Realisation was quickly dawning in Dr. March’s panicked gaze. “I… I was attempting humour, to try and put him at ease.”

God, it’s like he’s been trying to learn bedside manner from a textbook, Rosie thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “He didn’t see it that way.”

Eyes darting around the ward, Dr. March seemed nothing but a scared schoolboy as he asked: “Did you tell Dr. Grey… that I triggered Tom?”

Rosie’s arms were folded again. “No, like I said, I covered for you: I told Dr. Grey that a friend I was talking about and Tom’s girlfriend have the same name and that caused the episode.”

Dr. March was now looking confused as well as anxious. “But… Why? Why would you do that?”

Rosie sighed. Because I’m not an arsehole. Because in another life I would’ve been a junior doctor just like you. “Because we all have to start somewhere… and I remember how shit-scared I was when I first started working here.”

She had to wait longer than was comfortable, but finally Dr. March murmured: “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Rosie said, managing a small smile. “Now go and find Dr. Lorien.”

With a curt nod, Dr. March headed off down the dayroom corridor, once again leaving Rosie alone at the nurses’ station. Glancing over her shoulder into Bilbo’s room, she saw that Graham had moved further up the bed whilst still retaining his cross-legged position.

“Rosie?”

Rosie breathed out slowly as she turned back, this time greeted with a far less irritating sight than Dr. March or Dr. Burrows. Abidah was smiling nervously at her, fiddling with the magnetic pin on her navy head scarf.

“Abidah, you okay?” Rosie asked, all traces of annoyance slipping away.

“I’ve just come from Tom’s room,” the nurse murmured. “He’s pulling everything out of his drawers again, but I can’t get him to tell me what’s wrong or what he’s looking for… Can you take a look for me?”

Rosie smiled. “Of course, I’ll go and see him… If you could just bob these menus into the kitchen for me?”

Abidah took the menus from Rosie’s hand. “Sure.”

“Oh, and can you ask Dr. Burrows to prescribe some paracetamol for Bilbo’s headache, and just remind him that he needs to check on Graham?”

“Done and done,” Abidah nodded, before going off in search of the registrar and the kitchens.

Before she could be collared again at the nurses’ station, Rosie moved around the desk and set off down the corridor that led to Tom’s room.

There were no sounds of commotion as she drew nearer, in fact the corridor was completely silent, and Rosie knocked carefully and quietly on the half-open door. “Tom? It’s Rosie, can I come in?”

Receiving no response, she slowly edged into the room and found the bed empty and the twenty-one-year-old soldier curled up in the corner. He appeared to have pulled every item of clothing he owned from his drawers and wardrobe and collected them into a multi-coloured heap. He lay on top of the pile, body tucked into a tight foetal position, facing away from Rosie and towards the white wall. It was a pretty irreverent comparison, but still the tableau before her was reminiscent of her dad’s Yorkshire terrier, Polo, and the way he used to sleep on the piles of laundry in her room when she was a grumpy teenager and couldn’t be bothered to put them away.

“Tom?” Rosie tried again, moving further into the room. “I’m going to come and sit with you, is that okay?”

The young soldier remained silent, but his posture didn’t tense or tighten, and so Rosie made her way to the corner. Keeping a wary distance of a few yards, she lowered herself until she was sitting against the wall, resting her arms on her knees. From this position, she could just about make out Tom’s face, still half-hidden by the clothes. His short, blonde hair was a landscape of spikes from frustrated scrubbing and his eyes were squeezed shut, with a few, silvery tear tracks still drying on his pale cheeks. There was a red graze on his forehead from where he’d hit his head against the wall yesterday, but a quick check over his bare arms revealed no visible evidence of any more self-destructive behaviour.

“How are we doing today?” Rosie asked gently, after a few more moments of quiet.

“I’m not crazy,” Tom replied, his voice hoarse, and he kept his eyes firmly closed, brows knitted together with the effort.

Rosie felt the usually numbed ache give a throb somewhere inside her chest. “I know,” she said softly, staying very still. “I know that.”

There were many questions that could be asked, but Rosie didn’t think it would be productive to press Tom right now. Instead, she was content to just sit with him and let him know someone was there.

She wasn’t sure how many minutes had passed when Tom finally mumbled: “The sheets smell like her… the blankets too.”

Ah.

Rosie had met Tom’s ex-girlfriend twice when she came to visit him, and she knew from the moment she stepped towards the nurses’ station that disaster was coming. The young woman had eyed everything on the ward – including the other patients – with such distaste and obvious discomfort. She had pulled her designer jacket close around herself as if she thought PTSD was catching and then left again after being with her boyfriend for only twenty minutes. She hadn’t even had the decency to break up with Tom in person: she had left the message with Dr. Lorien instead. Rosie had worked that shift last week, the first night after the hammer-blow, and she was left wishing the gods of old really were up there watching so she knew Tom’s ex had a thunderbolt coming.

And so this was why Tom had rejected his bed in favour of this home-made nest of clothes. Rosie found that there were usually rational explanations for her patients’ seemingly unconventional behaviour. Bifur liked to sleep in the armchair that his cousin, Bofur, made for him, and Bilbo preferred to sit and read behind his door. As long as they were comfortable, weren’t in any danger, there was no harm in it, and she had no intention of ousting Tom from his make-shift bed. However, she was going to help make him more comfortable.

“You’re looking a little chilly there, Tom,” Rosie commented, taking in the soldier’s bare feet and the thin cotton of his pyjamas.

It took a minute or so, but then Tom conceded in a whisper: “Can’t feel my feet.” He hadn’t opened his eyes since Rosie had joined him, but she didn’t blame him for not wanting to look at the world at the moment.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Rosie smiled, before manoeuvring herself onto her knees and shuffling around to Tom’s feet, making her movements slow and deliberate so Tom could follow them without turning. “Right, you must have those fuzzy slipper socks your mum brought you in this pile somewhere.”

“Hmm,” was all Tom had to say on the matter.

Rosie did a bit of digging around in the clothes pile – being careful not to jostle Tom in the process – and then discovered the bright purple socks lurking just beneath the soldier’s ankles. They looked like someone had skinned a Teletubby and were a gift only an embarrassing, overbearing mother could find appropriate, but Tom had been wearing them on and off all week without protest.

“I’m just going to pop these on for you,” Rosie said, waiting a beat, and then slowly rolling the fluffy socks onto the right foot and then the left.

Tom let out a soft breath, wiggling his toes experimentally beneath the fuzzy fabric.

“Better?” Rosie asked, pulling his pyjama legs over the socks.

“Any chance of a foot-rub?”

Rosie let out a snort, surprised by this flash of humour, of the cheeky young soldier she had heard about from Tom’s parents. “I’m not sure personal masseuse is part of my job description,” she grinned.

“Radagast gave me a foot-rub yesterday,” Tom replied matter-of-factly, his eyes remaining closed, but his expression seeming more relaxed.

“Did he now?” Rosie asked, believing full well that this was exactly something Rad would do. “I’ll have to be having words.”

Knowing that Tom was one of their few patients who actually sought out physical contact when he was feeling vulnerable, Rosie reached out and began to rub a few soothing circles into Tom’s foot with her thumbs, before pressing some heat into it with the palms of her hands.

“You’re definitely better at this than Radagast,” Tom commented, his once raw voice sounding clearer.

Rosie moved to the other foot, rubbing some feeling back into it as she had done the other. “I won’t tell him you said that.”

“You could, it might make him up his game.”

Rosie couldn’t help but laugh as she released Tom’s fuzz-covered foot. “So you’re playing the nurses off against each other now?”

A small smile had appeared on the soldier’s lips, but then he pulled his knees further into his stomach with a shudder.

“I’m sure we can find a suitable duvet-substitute in here somewhere,” Rosie said, knowing Tom wouldn’t be accepting a hospital blanket any time soon. “How about your dressing gown?”

“I’m lying on it.”

“Right, well just roll yourself forward for me.”

Tom slowly uncurled and tipped his body towards the wall so Rosie could slip the flannel dressing gown – which was distinctly less fuzzy than his socks – from under him. He then settled himself back on his side as Rosie draped the dressing gown over him, tucking it in around his legs.

“There, snug as a bug in a rug,” she said, moving back to sit against the wall. “You’re making me want to have a nap now.”

Tom pulled the dressing gown up under his chin. “We can cuddle, if you want. I won’t try anything.”

Rosie smiled at that. “I know you won’t, Tom: you’re the perfect gentlemen. But sadly I don’t have any nap-time scheduled in for today.”

They shared a moment of comfortable silence, Tom wriggling a little into the clothes until he was satisfied, and then he said, voice hushed and sincere, with all humour gone: “I wish you were my girlfriend.”

The ache returned, sending little electric jabs pulsing out across Rosie’s ribs and she swallowed, letting out a breath. She took a moment to steady herself, but then managed a smile as she replied: “Oh, trust me, you don’t… I snore and talk in my sleep… and I fart a lot.”

For the first time since he’d been admitted, Rosie heard Tom laugh. It was a low, stuttering snigger, sounding almost unsure of itself… but it was the most wonderful thing she’d heard all week. And then Tom’s hand slowly appeared from underneath the dressing gown, sliding up to rest near his head, palm open. Rosie knew cuddling was out of the question, but she could at least hold Tom’s hand for a bit, to keep the pain at bay for a little while longer.

And that’s exactly what she did. Lacing their fingers together, she gave them a gentle, warm squeeze and Tom pressed his face into a hoodie, breathing steadily through his nose as he prepared to move himself towards the sleep he had lost last night, and the night before that.

Rosie waited until Tom’s fingers went lax against hers and his brow had grown smooth with better dreams, then clambered to her feet. She crept to the box at the end of the empty bed and scribbled down a few notes about their exchange. She would tell Rad in person that she had challenged his title as ‘Best Provider of Foot-Rubs in Ered Luin’ at hand-over that night.

Making her way back down the corridor towards the nurses’ station, Rosie couldn’t help but smile to herself. She knew she would feel better when she came into work, when she was making herself useful and –

There was shouting coming from Bilbo’s room.

Breaking into a run, she bounded down the corridor, around the nurses’ station, and skidded through the doorway.

Graham was being restrained by Beorn: the nurse had his arms locked around the grey-haired man’s shoulders in what Rosie knew to be a pre-emptive, cautious hold… this, coupled with the fact that Graham hadn’t already been escorted from the room, meant that he hadn’t actually been violent, but there was still very much a cause for concern.

Which would explain why Bilbo was standing opposite them, all colour drained from his face so that it looked almost grey, his whole body trembling as Abidah moved between him and Graham. There were speckles of sweat on his brow and his breathing was coming in short, laboured pants. Rosie was sure she could even hear his heartbeat thundering along with her own as she came to his side, reaching out a tentative hand and placing it on his shoulder, trying to anchor him, to keep him there with her.

“Bilbo? What happened?” Rosie asked, ensuring her tone remained measured and calm. She turned her back to Graham and Beorn as the nurse began to murmur reassurances to the older man in his restraining hold.

Bilbo swallowed, grey eyes growing cloudy as they flicked over Rosie’s shoulder. “He tried to kiss me,” he said, voice cracking as a shudder wracked his body. “I… I pushed him away.”

“Okay,” Rosie whispered, squeezing Bilbo’s shoulder, whilst furiously fighting back her own rising anger: this was exactly what she had feared would happen, why she had tried to warn Dr. Burrows… but he hadn’t listened, and she had left Bilbo anyway.

Graham’s voice suddenly sounded from behind her: “I’m not being fucking paranoid!”

Rosie turned, the protective instincts locking into every nerve in her body, roaring inside her like a raging lioness, and making her square her posture as she stared down the older man, whose words had been spat with so much venom and bitterness. She quite consciously moved in front of Bilbo. Graham lurched forward in Beorn’s grasp, his chest heaving as his dark eyes, shining with angry tears, looked straight through her. She knew there was very little chance of him breaking out of the nurse’s hold, but so help her, she was ready to get him on the floor if he even thought about making a go for Bilbo.

“You’ve been leading me on!” Graham snarled, tears beginning to dribble down his dark, stubbled cheeks, and he seemed to have no problem with eye-contact now that he was glaring at Bilbo with such ferocity, as if he were trying to set him alight. “And everyone here’s been in on it!”

“I haven’t been leading you on,” came Bilbo’s voice and a glance back confirmed that he had stepped out from behind Rosie. “I’m your friend, Graham… and… and I’m really sorry if you interpreted that as more than it actually was.”

Bilbo’s words were permeated with pain and obvious guilt, but the emotion in them did nothing to hold back Graham’s tirade.

“But you _knew_ ,” he choked out, sinking a little in Beorn’s grip. “You knew I was in love with you and you… you didn’t say anything… _you led me on_!”

Rosie could hear Bilbo’s breaths growing heavier and raspier behind her and she was about to intervene when he answered: “That was never my intention… I didn’t want to hurt you… I’m sorry.”

Graham seemed thrown for a moment, unsure how to answer this apology, but Rosie knew all along that the older man was gearing up for a fight: he wanted an argument, so he was going to make sure he got one.

“I should’ve known,” he growled, eyes flashing black. “I should’ve known that I’d never be good enough for _Saint Bilbo_.”

A breath got caught in Rosie’s throat as she turned to see the pain flicker in Bilbo’s watery gaze, his stoic mask slipping, if only for a second.

“I’m not a saint,” he whispered, lips white and trembling.

Graham gave a cruel scoff. “Could’ve fooled me!”

“Look, this isn’t about you!” Bilbo retorted, his voice suddenly rising. “It has nothing to do with you… I’m just not interested… Not in you, not in anyone.”

“What, did they cut your cock off as well when they gave you those scars?”

The half-second of shock quickly gave way to an anger that cut through Rosie like a white hot blade and she was suddenly rounding on Graham. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” she barked, eyes full of fire.

And then stopped.

Fuck.

She had just screamed at a psychiatric inpatient and asked what the hell was wrong with them in front of three other people, and it had no doubt been heard on the ward by countless others.

 _Fuck_.

The fear and panic were now slowly filling her stomach with icy water as the reality of the situation sank in and Bilbo’s room seemed to lose all its colour, the reactions of the people around her becoming sluggish, full of living static… and then Bilbo’s voice sounded behind her as he let out a weak ‘ _Rosie_ ’.

It was enough to snap her back into the moment and as soon as she saw Bilbo’s face all thoughts of her own impending catastrophe vanished.

“Hey, hey, Bilbo, stay with me,” she said, reaching for Bilbo’s arms as he pushed his hands into his hair, fingers tightening around his curls. “It’s alright, you’re safe, I’m right here… It’s okay, Bilbo, it’s –”

But it was too late. The light disappeared from Bilbo’s eyes like snuffing out a candle and his knees gave way. Rosie caught him as he fell and then Abidah was there, helping her lower him to the floor.

“Bilbo!” came Graham’s distraught cry. “Bilbo, I’m sorry!”

“Beorn, get him out of here!” Rosie snapped, carefully positioning the pillow Abidah had grabbed beneath Bilbo’s head as they rolled him onto his side. “You’re okay, Bilbo, you’re going to be okay.”

Bilbo’s empty, half-lidded gaze was staring across the floor and Rosie didn’t meet any resistance as she gently untangled his hair from his fingers and brought his hands down from his head. She rubbed a thumb over his knuckles and continued to whisper reassurances, but Bilbo’s wheezing breaths continued and he was still shaking.

She turned to Abidah just as a new voice sounded from the doorway: “Nurse Cotton, my office please.”

“He… He needs oxygen. Abidah, can you get a mask from the cupboard?”

“Now, please, Nurse Cotton. I shall take over here and join you shortly.”

Rosie looked to Abidah, but the nurse only returned a wide-eyed look, clearly having no idea what to say, and Rosie didn’t blame her.

Dr. Grey strode into the room as she straightened up and stumbled away. She couldn’t remember the last time the consultant had called her ‘Nurse Cotton’, and that thought alone was making her mouth go dry and her throat tighten.

She crossed the ward in a daze, as if she were trapped in a horrible, horrible dream, and a second later she found herself sitting in an armchair in Dr. Grey’s office, having no memory of how she got there. Ah, the irony of sitting in the chair usually occupied by patients.

And the frozen water returned, bubbling up into her lungs, slowly, deliberately drowning her from the inside out, and a thick, poisonous smoke spread out across her mind with thoughts rising from it one by one like creatures from the Black Lagoon.

She could be fired for this.

Or suspended.

They might suspend her without pay and then how would she make ends meet? She wouldn’t even think about going to her mother for money… Would Rad put her up on his sofa-bed until a decision was made?

She could get a disciplinary and she wasn’t sure how well she’d do at defending herself at a hearing: calling board members ‘wankers’ was generally frowned upon.

Hey, maybe she could ask them ‘what the hell is wrong with you?’, you know, seen as that worked out so well the first time round.

Would the Union be able to back her or had she been too stupid to warrant even their help?

Fuck.

This was a mess. This was a real fucking mess and –

The office door creaked open and Dr. Grey slipped into the room. Before Rosie had chance to say anything, he had grabbed a box of tissues from his desk and was holding them out to her, an unexpected smile on his lips. Rosie hadn’t even realised she’d been crying, but now she suddenly felt the tightness of the skin around her eyes and had to blink to clear her vision. Pulling out a wad of tissues, she hastily scrubbed at her face, trying to ignore her shaking fingers. It took a few moments before she was able to look Dr. Grey in the eye, but she was once again surprised to discover that his blue gaze was warm as he settled in the armchair opposite her.

“Rosie, I don’t think I need to tell you that asking any of our patients here what the hell is wrong with them is very unwise indeed,” he said quietly, sitting forward, elbows resting on his knees. “It is unprofessional, completely unacceptable, and not what I would expect from you.”

The frozen water had reached Rosie’s throat and she could only nod, letting out a choked “I know”.

“However, I am aware that this week has been a very difficult one for you,” Dr. Grey continued, expression solemn. “And I have also been informed by Dr. Burrows that you requested a change in obs for both Bilbo and Graham… Had he listened to you, this unfortunate incident could very well have been avoided.”

Rosie’s heart skipped a beat and the water stilled in its rising.

“You are one of the best nurses I have ever had the pleasure of working with,” the doctor said, a soft smile appearing. “And even the best nurses make errors in judgement. This job is not an easy one, Rosie, and sometimes we let our emotions get the best of us. It has most certainly happened to me.”

Rosie could never imagine the eternally-unflappable Dr. Grey ever being anything but calm, but still she was thankful for the sentiment, which was helping her to take her first deep breath since Bilbo’s room. “Are… are you going to suspend me?” she whispered, more hopeful than she was a minute ago, but still dreading the answer.

“No,” Dr. Grey replied simply. “I am not. However, I would like you to consider this a verbal warning. I am not pleased with what has happened this morning and I do not expect it to happen again.”

Feeling well and truly reprimanded, but also fighting the urge to dance about the office at the prospect of still being able to pay her rent for her flat with its mirror-fronted wardrobes, Rosie let out another long breath. “Thank you, Dr. Grey,” she said, throat still feeling raw. “I… I really am sorry… It’s not going to happen again.”

Dr. Grey nodded. “Now, I think it may be best if –”

“Please don’t send me home,” Rosie cut in before the doctor could finish his sentence. Dr. Grey looked surprised, and she added hastily: “Sorry… Sorry, I just… I’d rather be here, doing something, not just sat on my sofa thinking about all this, about this week… Please…”

Rosie hoped she didn’t sound too pathetic, but Dr. Grey had a knowing glint in his eye and she hoped this meant he understood. “Very well, but first I would like you to take some time: go and get a coffee, read a magazine… perhaps see to your make-up.”

This last comment was made with a gentle smile and at first Rosie thought Dr. Grey was actually mocking her mascara-only decision for the day, before she realised that the mascara in question was very probably running down her face and she most likely resembled Alice Cooper. Definitely not a good look for the ward.

“I… I, er, I will,” she replied, quickly rubbing her thumbs under her eyes and giving herself a head-start with the make-up removal.

“Thank you.”

Knowing she was being dismissed, Rosie got to her feet. She was half-way to the door when Dr. Grey stopped her.

“And, Rosie, if you ever need anything, you need only ask… Please remember that.”

Rosie returned a smile and then escaped from the office. She forced herself to count to three, breathing carefully, in and out, as she headed towards the staff toilets to wipe her mascara, and everything that had happened that week, clean away.

 

…

 

**_September, 2014_ **

 

“Scone, Rosie?”

Rosie looked up from the computer screen to see Poppy holding out a large plastic Tupperware full of fruit scones the size of her fists. Radagast and Beorn were tucking into a scone each behind them, looking more than impressed by the quality.

“Wow, where’ve you been hiding these?” she asked, taking one with a grin.

“Linda’s handing them out in the dayroom and we get a tub to ourselves,” Poppy replied, setting the Tupperware down on the desk. “Honestly, Mary Berry needs to watch out.”

Rosie took her first bite and let out a moan. “These are amazing,” she said, mouth still full. “But take them away this instant or I’ll eat about five.”

“I’m pretty sure Rad’s had about three already.” Poppy indicated Radagast wiping crumbs from his fingers behind her.

“Four actually,” the old nurse said cheerfully. “Right, back to it, chaps.”

As quickly as they had gathered, their team dispersed, Poppy taking the remaining scones with her to the nurses’ office, leaving Rosie to polish off her final bite of scone. She reached out to the left of the desk and pumped a few rounds of gel into her hands from the dispenser. Rubbing her hands together until the cool, biting feel dissipated from her fingers, her eyes returned to the computer screen, but she was distracted by an unpleasant tugging in the bottom of her stomach. That scone was probably a bad idea, even if it had been delicious. She’d woken up with this same queasiness and now it appeared the scone was exacerbating whatever was going on with her insides today… which was a shame, as Linda really was a superb baker.

Rosie got to her feet just as Graham was buzzed through onto the ward. The grey-haired soldier greeted her with a wide smile as he came to the nurses’ station, Florence trotting along happily at his side.

“Morning, Rosie,” he said warmly, accepting the sign-in sheet and pen she handed over.

“Morning,” Rosie smiled. “How was the match last night? I hear Scum got stuffed three-nil.”

Graham chuckled at that, before whispering conspiratorially: “I’m not sure we should be calling them Scum here, you don’t know how many Leeds fans could be listening.”

“Well, my dad was a Bradford supporter too and he’d be upset if he thought his daughter was showing Leeds any amount of respect,” Rosie replied, unable to hide her grin. “Did everything work out okay with the seats?”

“Yeah, yeah, we got it all sorted and the lads were brilliant – Florence was a superstar too, kept me on the straight and narrow,” Graham replied, giving his Golden Retriever an approving pat.

Last night marked the first time Graham had attended a football match since returning from Afghanistan. She knew he and Dr. Grey had been preparing endlessly for this seminal match between local rivals, Bradford and Leeds, for months so that Graham would be able to attend, and she was genuinely glad that the night had gone off without a hitch.

“Right, your appointment with Dr. Grey is at ten?” Rosie asked, scanning the folder on the desk as Graham clipped his visitor badge to his jacket.

“Yeah, but I thought I’d hang out in the dayroom for a little while first,” Graham explained. “I think James and Linda are already in there?”

“They are, yes, and Linda’s been baking – you might want to hurry or you’ll miss the scones.”

“Excellent!”

“And I know James is a Scum fan, so don’t you go starting any fights.”

“I’ll try not to!”

With a wave and a grin, Graham disappeared down the dayroom corridor and Rosie moved from the nurses’ station, going to stick her head around Bilbo’s door. He’d had a good night last night, getting about five or six hours of sleep, and had woken without a headache. She found him where she’d left him thirty minutes ago: sitting cross-legged in bed, completely immersed as he read through the old entries in his red, leather-bound journal, which was open on his over-bed table.

“Hey,” Rosie said gently, and Bilbo looked up. “Want me to go to the dayroom and see if I can steal a scone for you?”

“Thanks, but I’ve already had two,” Bilbo replied, smiling.

Possibly a lie. Rosie tried not to let the scrutiny show on her face. Bilbo hadn’t eaten much at breakfast, but that happened every so often when he insisted on ordering a Full English every morning.

“Okay, well, give me a shout if you change your mind,” she said, and she was slipping her head back around the door when Bilbo called out to her.

“Rosie?”

She moved into the room this time. “Yeah?”

“You know I think you’re wonderful, don’t you?”

“What?” she asked, one eyebrow raised in surprise.

“I don’t tell you often enough,” Bilbo replied, his expression completely indecipherable. “But I really do appreciate everything you do for me.”

“I think re-reading all those soppy entries about Thorin is making you sentimental,” Rosie grinned, if only to mask the shock at Bilbo’s unexpected words, and to cover for the gooey things they were doing to her insides.

Bilbo smiled over at her. “Something like that.”

Rosie returned the smile. “Okay, let me know if you want a scone delivered.”

Bilbo nodded, before his eyes were drawn back to his journal, and she knew to give him some space.

Heading back onto the ward, she moved around her assigned rooms with more of a spring in her step. She finished up her round of checks in Bifur’s room, signing with the old soldier about the beautiful bedside table Bofur and Bombur had delivered the day before yesterday. He went through each of the purposefully-fashioned drawers, showing her what each one was for and teaching her its accompanying sign. Rosie always made it a mission to leave Bifur’s room with at least three new words to sign and today she left with at least a dozen additions to her ever-expanding BSL vocabulary. Smiling, she even told herself the feeling in her stomach was on its way out as she made her way back down the corridor to the nurses’ station.

Poppy was sitting at the computer, typing an email, but she looked up to smile at Rosie as she arrived. “I saved a scone for you to take home. It’s in the office.”

“You’re a star,” Rosie said, moving around Poppy to collect an audit.

She glanced to her right into Bilbo’s room as she straightened up… and stopped.

Bilbo’s bed was empty, but his journal had been left open on the over-bed table. Furrowing her brow, Rosie went over to the room and stuck her head in. “Bilbo?” She peered around the door, but he was nowhere in sight. Not that Bilbo was particularly precious about it, but it was still unusual for him to leave his journal open and unattended.

Stomach tightening a little and the uneasy feelings creeping back in like frost, Rosie returned to the nurses’ station. “Poppy?” she asked quietly. “Have you seen Bilbo?”

Poppy turned away from the computer with a smile. “Oh, he’s gone to sit with Bifur - he left about ten minutes ago.”

“But I’ve just come from Bifur’s room…”

 _Shit_.

Rosie saw the cold horror dawning on Poppy’s face, mirroring her own terrified expression, and then she was rearing away from the desk, certain she was going to throw up.

“We need to find him!” she gasped out. “Check Ori’s room, the dayroom!”

Even as the words left her lips, she knew they wouldn’t find Bilbo there: they weren’t going to find him with other people. Radagast suddenly materialised behind her and she whirled around, grabbing the front of his scrubs with one, desperate hand.

“Bilbo’s gone… We need to check every store cupboard, every bathroom… everywhere!”

Radagast was already pale as he pulled away. “I’m on it, I’ll page Dr. Grey.”

Rosie staggered back, eyes frantically scanning the ward before her as her heartbeat pounded in her ears to the rhythm of her only thought – _No, no, no, no, no, no, no…_ –  and she watched, feeling utterly helpless, as the team scattered to begin their search.

It was with a growl that she forced herself to move forward and actually do something. Her arms and legs felt like limp stockings full of rocks, but still she bodily dragged herself over to the nurses’ office. Throwing open the door, she was greeted with only a cold, biting emptiness. She stumbled inside and moved to the large cupboards under the sink, but found nothing.

Fighting against the slowly paralysing panic, she returned to the ward and rounded the corner until she found herself outside the men’s bathroom. You needed a key to get in, but, _oh_ _God_ , she knew damn well that Bilbo would have found a way to get hold of one…

She wanted to throw up again, but another growl sent her trembling hand searching through the keys on her lanyard until she found the right one and jammed it into the silver lock.

The door clicked and she pushed herself inside.

And the world stopped completely.

The world stopped completely, but still Rosie Cotton barrelled forward, pulling the PARA from her scrubs pocket and snapping out the pin. She threw the circle of plastic to the floor. An alarm was now going off in every staff area, a dreaded siren worse than all of the seven trumpets, and Rosie found herself staring into the abyss alone, ears filled with nothing but one, shrill note as she kicked open the cubicle door and dragged Bilbo out.

Ripping off her scrubs top, she lifted his wrists high into the air and pressed the blue fabric hard against them, wrapping her fingers around his arms and squeezing, squeezing as tight as she could, trying to keep Bilbo from slipping away.

Her vision was filled with nothing but watery red as she let out a cry, watching the weak, twitchy rise and fall of Bilbo’s chest as she knelt over him.

“Don’t you dare, Bilbo, don’t you fucking dare!”

His breathing stuttered.

“No, no, no… Bilbo, you can’t do this to Thorin… And fuck… you can’t do this to me! Don’t you dare… Don’t you dare leave me!”

His chest was still.

“BILBO!”

The bathroom door crashed open and suddenly there was noise, so much noise, echoing, expanding, filling every inch of the bathroom and bouncing from tile to tile. Rosie felt herself being wrenched away, dragged back into jagged angles of warmth, and she could do nothing but watch as a blur of colour swarmed around Bilbo, lifting him and bundling him away in a halo of light and noise.

Until finally Rosie was left alone, shaking in Poppy’s arms on the red floor, and now that the world was still and silent, now that there was nothing more that could ever be done or said to take this back, Rosie curled in on herself and screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

 

…

 

**_September, 2015_ **

 

“… I just need to finish the audit for the Board, and –”

“Oh no, my love, you’re going to go home on time today,” Cam said, eyeing Rosie with a knowing smile as she slipped the audit folder from her hand. “And we know your fella will be waitin’ outside for you, so best not keep him standin’ there any longer.”

Rosie found that most of her team had gathered themselves at the nurses’ station and she suspected this intervention had very probably been pre-planned by Cam herself.

“I was going to stay until hand-over,” she said, letting out a sigh as she slowly accepted defeat.

“I can lead hand-over,” Cam replied breezily. “And I’ll keep this lot in line for you.”

There were a few chuckles and Rosie could see nothing but warm smiles as she surveyed the other nurses assembled before her. “Mr. Roper needs to be checked on in about ten minutes and if social services call about Mr. Goold –”

“I’ll handle it,” Cam put in. “You know we’ll keep this place tickin' after you leave... which you will be doin' in about five minutes, or I’ll have security escort you out.”

Cam winked at her, and the others laughed again.

“Okay, okay, I’m going… Well done today, everyone, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With a round of cheery waves and well wishes, Rosie made her way over to the office. Opening her locker, she couldn’t help but smile as her eyes fell on the photo of Sam taped there. It seemed like such a silly, teenage thing to do at the time, but she couldn’t deny it often helped her get through a particularly gruelling day.

But today had been a good day, and as it was a Thursday, she would be with her boyfriend in a matter of minutes. Sam worked later at Mr. Bolger’s flower shop on Thursdays, cashing up and filling in paperwork. When he was finished, he would walk from town to the hospital, and then the two of them would make the journey home together. The walking did them both good and it was nice, just being able to chat about their days as the sun slowly set below the trees, whose leaves were just beginning to turn: a simple, but welcome ritual as they got towards the end of their working week.

Reaching for her rucksack, Rosie retrieved her phone from the front pocket. Opening her home-screen, she found a manageable number of Snapchat notifications – which meant Bilbo and Thorin hadn’t been up to anything too adventurous today. Flicking through the Snaps, she paused at one of Bilbo sitting in the waiting area of the Leeds AFCO, a close-up of his dopey smile filling half the screen, and in the background Rosie could see Thorin in full uniform, talking to a group of teenagers.

The next Snap was one of the ‘kissing pictures’ Rosie had once called ‘incessant’ and ‘insufferable’ – that was until Sam had suggested they do the same and get their own back, which she found she quite enjoyed. The final Snap from Bilbo was a selfie with his face pulled into an expression of exaggerated excitement. The caption read: ‘Did you see Tom’s news???!!!??’ One eyebrow raised, Rosie opened up Facebook and the first thing she found on her feed was a picture of Tom and Briony. Briony’s left hand, sporting a beautiful diamond ring, was held up to the camera with the caption, ‘SHE SAID YES!’

“Of course she did,” Rosie smiled, eyes lingering on the look of pure happiness plastered across Tom’s face. It looked like she would be planning a trip back up North very soon.

Pulling on her leather jacket and shouldering her rucksack, Rosie closed her locker and left the office. Cam watched her leave with another cheery wave, and then the ward disappeared behind silver lift doors.

Sam was waiting for her by their usual bench, and he stood up as she approached.

“You’re out early today,” he said, hands going to her waist as he pulled her in for a soft, lingering kiss.

“Cam threatened to call security if I didn’t leave,” Rosie grinned, pecking him on the nose, before slipping her hand into his.

“Well, I’m glad she did,” Sam said, swinging their joined hands as they moved onto the path that led away from the hospital and towards home. “Good day today?”

“Yeah, two patients discharged, and we got the housing fiasco from last week sorted out… How about you?”

“Oh, a few difficult customers, but nothin’ I couldn’t handle.”

“Really, what happened?”

“Well, this woman came in an’ she was wantin’…”

Rosie couldn’t help but look across and watch Sam as he spoke. God, she loved him… and everything they had together, this little world that they had built. She was sure there were some gardening analogies in there somewhere, but she wasn’t sure she’d live them down if she ever voiced them. Instead, she would settle on saying that what they had was wonderful: that they would walk home together hand in hand, and make dinner, and watch television, and then Sam would take her to bed and kiss every one of her stretchmarks.

And there wouldn’t be a mirror-fronted wardrobe in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *leaves tissues and chocolate and tea on the table* *runs away*
> 
> I would just like to say that, lovely readers, your stretchmarks are beautiful, and you are all beautiful people. Writing Rosie and her stretchmarks has been a way for me to exorcise a demon or two left over from a time when I really didn’t love myself. I would also just like to give a shout-out to Rutobuka’s amazing art, found at rutobuka2.tumblr.com, which has certainly helped me learn to love myself this year :D 
> 
> Also, the absolutely amazing Gaaladrieel has created two beautiful edits for Chapters 2 and 3 of this fic, and you can check them out here: 
> 
> Chapter 2: http://gaaladrieel.tumblr.com/post/151575183215/happy-birthday-to-a-good-friend-and-fantastic
> 
> Chapter 3: http://gaaladrieel.tumblr.com/post/152817880845/dust-in-the-road-part-ii-in-the-obstaclesverse-by
> 
> Coming up next: I haven’t decided yet, so you’re getting whatever’s in the mystery box! ;)


	4. June, 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! First of all, I’m really sorry for the slight delay with this chapter. I’m afraid I haven’t been very well recently, and not to put too fine a point on it, but I am going to need surgery next year. However, I’m hoping that this should resolve the health problems that have been plaguing me for a very long time. (It’s well over two years ago now, but do you guys remember me ending up in A&E after posting Chapter 7 of ‘Obstacles’?) So yes, I’m on the mend for now and ready to return to this ‘verse and see what our boys have been up to ;) 
> 
> I’m pleased to announce that the mystery box has offered up a Fili-centric chapter and I just want to say a massive thank you to Jezunya and lloydsglasses for all their help and advice with the drafting process, this chapter wouldn’t be what it is without them! Another thank you also goes to the wonderful Gaaladrieel for entertaining me whilst I’ve been off work and feeling sorry for myself, and for putting up with my all-too-frequent updates of ‘shit my body has done today’. You’re far, far too good to me :) 
> 
> Warning: There are some brief mentions of acephobia in this chapter.

Thorin’s fingers pressed into his sweaty palm as he flexed them around Dain’s lead. The Labrador looked up at him, panting heavily, and Thorin returned a sympathetic smile as he reached up to wipe away the trickle of water that was creeping down his brow from beneath his beret. The start of June had brought with it an unexpected heatwave: it had slunk in with all its golden, shimmering glory and made the centre of Leeds feel positively Mediterranean. And then yesterday, in a wonderful twist of fate that all the cynics in the world could have predicted, the air conditioning at the AFCO had decided to quite spectacularly give up on life with a host of sparks and a fairly terrifying death rattle. 

It was, therefore, unsurprising that Thorin had felt nothing but relief when Captain Eorlingas had let him leave their temporary sauna of an office an hour early: it seemed their air conditioning’s obituary had been spread throughout the city and the AFCO had been noticeably quiet that day. Wiping his forehead again, Thorin sighed. The heat had never bothered him in Afghanistan, when he had been posted in an actual desert, but it seemed a year back at home had made him revert to the very British pass-time of complaining when it got hotter than twenty degrees.

He was very much looking forward to returning to the cool of Bilbo’s flat in Shire Oak Court and diving straight into the shower. Bilbo had risen early with him that morning, intending to spend the day working on the first few chapters of his thesis. He had purposefully cleared his schedule of lectures and sessions of any sort so he could have a large block of time to write, and so Thorin had left him alone whilst he was at work, unconcerned by the lack of Snapchats, as Bilbo wouldn’t have had the need to snap in anywhere.

Arriving at the green and gold painted wrought-iron gates, Thorin fished his keys from his pocket and fobbed himself through into the courtyard. He had quite enjoyed all the fanfare Bilbo had made about getting him a key cut a couple of months ago and, as inconsequential as it seemed, Thorin liked having his own set of keys to the flat. At thirty-nine, it was a relationship first, and it brought about a dopey smile whenever he thought about it.

The green door in the corner was locked, but this wasn’t unusual as Bilbo probably hadn’t left the house after him, and so Thorin twisted his gold key into the lock and slipped into the refreshingly cold air of the flat.

“It’s only me!” he called out, as he and Dain moved down the hallway to the living room.

They found Bilbo sitting at the small, circular table in the corner with Sting curled up dutifully at the side of his chair. He had been staring at his laptop screen with little creases between his brows, but now he looked up, expression brightening as they came to meet him.

“You’re home early,” he commented, hastily slamming his laptop shut and cursing when the motion sent a few sheets of scribble-covered lined paper flying across the floor.

“Captain Eorlingas took pity on me,” Thorin replied, reaching down to unclip Dain’s lead and pull off his high-vis jacket.

He watched as Bilbo returned the papers to the table, leaving them in a fairly messy pile, as if he had no energy left to sort through them, and Thorin tried very hard not to let his concern show in his expression. Something was wrong. He knew Bilbo was about three seconds away from putting on a cheery front and asking him about his day in an attempt to shift his attention away from whatever had happened whilst he was at work.

“Air conditioning still on the blink?” Bilbo said, smiling sympathetically as he moved from the table to Thorin’s side.

“Not even on the blink, just none existent.”

“Poor you,” Bilbo soothed, before sliding his arms around his waist and rising onto his toes for a kiss.

Thorin leaned down and pressed his lips against Bilbo’s, sighing into the kiss, but then suddenly froze, drawing back with a look of surprise. “You… You’ve been smoking?” he asked, hands falling from Bilbo’s back.

Bilbo’s hand immediately shot up to cover his mouth, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry, love… I’ll just go and brush my teeth.”

Thorin opened his mouth to say something further, but Bilbo had already fled through his bedroom door, heading into his en-suite. Thorin stared after him as the hiss of running water sounded, wondering at the tightening of his stomach. He knew Bilbo liked the occasional cigarette, but this was the first time he’d known him to smoke during the day… and without Thorin himself present. Smoking was usually reserved for the early hours of the morning, when one of them had woken from dangerous and disturbing dreams. They would share a cigarette out on the terrace – whomever had the steadiest, tremor-free hand responsible for lighting up. A cigarette also celebrated the conclusion, the sleepy sated feel, of other activities that took place in the early hours of the morning, but again, this was always something they shared.

Keeping his eyes on the bedroom door, Thorin slowly moved back across the living room to the terrace. He didn’t dare slide open the glass doors, but still his gaze flicked to the ashtray that was tucked between two plant pots and his eyes widened. He counted no less than eight crumpled butts, squashed together in a mound of grey ash, and his stomach twisted in on itself. This revelation was worrying… more than worrying in the fact that Bilbo hadn’t emptied the ashtray, hadn’t tried to hide the evidence of what surely constituted a bout of chain-smoking. Was this because he didn’t think it was an issue? Or because he was too distracted by whatever was happening to cover his tracks?

“I’m really sorry about that.”

Thorin almost jumped out of his skin as Bilbo reappeared in the room and this earned a raised eyebrow as his boyfriend returned to him, although this soon melted into an expression of contrition as Bilbo took his hands, rubbing his thumbs over Thorin’s.

“I-I’m a bit sweaty,” Thorin mumbled, wishing he couldn’t feel his throat closing up.

“Well, you’re not going to hear me complaining about that,” Bilbo grinned. “Now, where were we?”

Thorin was pulled down into another kiss, one that had the distinctly minty taste of toothpaste, but Thorin found he couldn’t relax into Bilbo’s embrace, couldn’t stop his posture from growing rigid as his heart began thudding in his ears and his stomach gave another sickly jolt.

And of course this didn’t go unnoticed by Bilbo, who slowly withdrew, looking up into Thorin’s face with his brow furrowed. “Thorin?”

Thorin swallowed, aware that he now had no choice but to confront Bilbo with his discovery. “You’ve, er, been smoking today?”

“Yes,” Bilbo replied, sounding confused. “It helps me think, I suppose, a quick cig break whilst I’m writing… But I only had one this morning after you left and one just before you got in.”

Thorin stiffened, feeling his heart begin to slowly crawl up his throat. Bilbo had just lied to him. He had just looked him in the eye and lied. “One this morning and one this afternoon?” he whispered, voice tight. “Not eight or nine, then?”

Bilbo’s look of confusion returned, but then he suddenly took a step back, his lips becoming a thin line. “You checked the ashtray?”

Thorin had no intention of denying it. “Yes.”

“Why? Why would you do that?” Bilbo asked, moving even further away from him. “You don’t trust me?”

Thorin knew they were balanced on a knife edge now and he felt the anger simmering beneath the surface of the conversation like the damn heat that had left speckles of sweat across his skin. Forcing himself to keep his voice low and steady, he replied: “Of course I do… But you’ve just lied to me, Bilbo... and now you’re… you’re worrying me.”

Bilbo appeared unmoved. “If you’re going to lecture me, Thorin –”

“I’m not going to lecture you,” Thorin snapped, before once again urging himself to remain calm and fight against the urge to clench his jaw. “I just didn’t realise you’d started smoking… properly.”

Bilbo let out a scoff that made Thorin flinch. “This is hardly _properly_ … and don’t be a hypocrite, you smoke with me all the time.”

The anger was bubbling steadily now and Thorin felt himself bristling, his shoulders locking beneath his sweat-soaked uniform. He knew Bilbo was lashing out at him because something else was at work, but that didn’t stop the sneered words hurting. Dain let out a whine at his side, concerned by his obvious distress, and he knew Sting must also be sensing the tension in the room as the Golden Retriever moved to sit in front of Bilbo.

“Not this much,” Thorin murmured. “Not half a pack in a day… and never without you.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “You do realise your sister smokes twice as much as I do, but you don’t seem to have a problem with that?”

“Don’t do that,” Thorin whispered, voice dangerously quiet.

Bilbo’s tone was challenging as he replied: “ _What_?”

“Try and change the subject so you can distract me from whatever’s really going on,” Thorin said, and then, attempting to relax his body language, he added: “Bilbo, sweetheart… If something’s happened –”

“Nothing’s happened,” Bilbo replied, his expression blank. “I’m fine.”

Thorin sighed, feeling another trickle of sweat slip down his face, the once cool room suddenly flaring with heat, the knife-edge balancing act only continuing, and he wished he didn’t feel like Bilbo was preparing to push him. “Bilbo –”

“No, Thorin, don’t,” Bilbo said, in almost a hiss. “I told you, I’m fine, and to be perfectly honest, my smoking habits aren’t actually any of your business.”

And Thorin was pushed. “ _Aren’t any of my_ –? They are if you’ve found another fucking way to kill yourself!”

Bilbo’s mask of indifference suddenly fell away and he recoiled as if Thorin had struck him, the hurt instantly recognisable in his eyes… and Thorin knew he had well and truly fucked up.

“Bilbo,” he gasped out, the panic digging its claws into his lungs. “I… I didn’t mean…”

He reached out a hand, but Bilbo took a step back, tears appearing in his eyes. “Get out.”

Thorin didn’t move, the sheer horror of the situation and the sweat sliding under his boots sticking him to the spot. He opened his mouth, desperate to rectify his disastrous mistake, but Bilbo silenced him before he could get the words out, the hurt in his shining gaze darkening to black fury.

“I mean it, Thorin, get the fuck out of my flat!”

The words ripping holes in his lungs, Thorin staggered away from Bilbo and then turned and ran back out into the heat of courtyard, Dain fighting to keep up with his partner’s stumbling strides. Thorin had almost reached the gates when he heard an almighty slam as the green door was banged shut behind him. The sound shuck him from the inside out, sending a gnawing pain sparking in his temples. His hand shot out to grab the sun-warmed metal, steadying himself as he hunched over, unable to stop himself from wheezing.

 _Idiot_ , the voice in his head growled, _bloody stupid idiot_. _You’ve gone and done it now, he won’t forgive you for this… You’ll be alone again… Just like before._

Yanking the gate open in an attempt to banish the voice, Thorin lurched forward onto the pavement. Looking up, he saw the white sun wheeling over him, its blistering heat making him burn like an ant beneath a magnifying glass, and suddenly the dizziness hit, knocking all the remaining air out of his lungs, and for one horrible moment he thought he was going to pass out. He collapsed down onto the curb, his hands blindly slapping at the grey stone as he felt his way into an awkward sitting position. He was lucky Shire Oak Court was hidden away on an empty side street so the only witness to his pitiful state was Dain, who was now nudging at his knees.

Sitting with his head in his hands, Thorin tried to focus on his breathing, but all he could see behind his closed lids was the hurt in Bilbo’s eyes as he recoiled from him. His lungs were losing their battle against this haunting image and Thorin made a miserable choking noise as the corners of his eyes began to sting. It was then that Dain licked at his hands and pushed his elbow away. He clambered into his lap and pressed himself against Thorin’s chest, urging his partner not to lose himself to the panic and the despair.

Thorin tightened his arms around Dain and managed to draw in a deeper, if shaky, breath. He was not the same man he was a year ago… Yes, episodes were hard work and he would have to reset the ‘Days Without Incident’ counter in his head, and yes, what had just happened was pretty fucking awful, but he knew just sitting on the side of the road and beating himself up was in no way a productive course of action. Inhaling another shuddering breath, Thorin knew he needed to call someone: the snarling voice inside his head, one that had been silent for months, didn’t speak the truth. He wasn’t alone. He would never be alone again.

Trying to ignore the trembling of his fingers, he pulled his phone from his pocket, realising too late that one tap brought up the lock-screen and a photo of Bilbo. No, no torturing yourself, he thought, and may have said out loud – his ears felt fuzzy at the moment.

Opening his contacts, he contemplated the screen. He was a ten minute walk from Ered Luin, but he wasn’t sure he really wanted to speak to Dr. Grey… He might end up dropping Bilbo in it if the old doctor didn’t know about the cigarettes and he was sure that, despite remaining professionally impartial, Dr. Grey would very probably and very understandably be pissed off that he had goaded Bilbo about his suicide attempts. His chest tightened again at the thought, the phantom words once again sliding like knives into his lungs.

Dwalin and the lads from support group weren’t the most adept at providing the necessary TLC and Dis would be in meetings until after five. Which left someone whom Thorin knew was going to be very, very good at handling this. He scrolled down his contacts and hit the call button, lifting the phone to his ear.

Fili answered almost straight away. “Hey, Uncle! What up?”

It was only then that Thorin realised he hadn’t even thought about how to explain his situation, and with nothing prepared, he simply stayed silent, mouth hanging open slightly.

“Uncle? You there?”

After another long moment, all he managed was a choked ‘ _Fili_ ’.

And in the static at the other end of the line he heard his niece age about twenty years as she switched to her recognisable ‘episode mode’. “Okay, Uncle, just take a deep breath for me,” she coached, voice low and gentle. “Can you tell me where you are?”

Thorin forced himself to suck in a long, steady breath. “I… I’m in front of… Shire Oak Court.”

He heard Fili shushing someone in the background. “Okay, and is Dain with you?”

Thorin’s arms tightened around the armful of Labrador in his lap. “Yes.”

“Right, you make sure you’re giving him a hug,” Fili continued, tone serious but still soft. “I’m actually in town at the moment: we’re just in Trinity so I can be with you in five minutes if you want some company? Or we can just stay on the phone?”

Letting out a slow breath, Thorin squeezed his eyes shut as pain flashed at his temples again. “I… I don’t know… I don’t know what to do…”

He hoped he didn’t sound too pathetic, but at the moment the only thing his brain was suggesting was that just lying down on the side of the road seemed like a solid plan.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Fili soothed. “We’re going to figure this out, and this is going to pass… Just take another deep breath for me.”

Fili waited until she’d heard an audible breath over the phone until continuing: “Do you want to tell me what’s happened?”

Thorin winced as Bilbo’s pained expression flashed in the forefront of his mind. “Bilbo… we… we had a fight… He’s thrown me out,” he said, voice strained as the memory of his words made his lungs twitch.

“Okay,” Fili replied, sounding more than sympathetic. “Look, Uncle, I’d feel better if you had someone with you… Is it alright if you just sit tight there and wait for me?”

The thought of Fili being there with him eased some of the tightness in his chest, and so he nodded. “Yes… I-I’ll wait.”

“Right, I’m on my way,” Fili said, and Thorin thought he heard chairs scraping. “I’ll be with you in five, but if you’d like me to stay on the phone…?”

Thorin drew in another slow breath. “No… I’ll be okay… Thank you.”

“No problem, I’ll see you really soon, Uncle.”

“Okay… Bye.”

Thorin hung up and returned his phone to his pocket, cringing at the sight of the sweaty, steamed-up screen. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and pulled off his beret, placing on the pavement at his side. _Idiot_ , the voice muttered again, but Thorin found he didn’t have any energy left to get angry at himself, at the situation, and now he only felt exhausted, drained… and fearful for the future. He was used to his anxiety gleefully presenting him with every worst case scenario in a parade of flickering, garishly coloured tableaux and he could feel the picture show about to start… but this time he tried desperately to fight against it, to stop the horrible visions from crowding his mind.

He wasn’t sure how long this mental battle had been waging when Fili appeared at the end of the street.

And she wasn’t alone.

Thorin immediately straightened up, narrowing his eyes against the sun’s glare. He hadn’t thought anything of Fili’s use of ‘we’ on the phone, but now here his niece was, walking quickly down the street towards him, her friend, Aiden, in tow. He had first met the tall, broad-shouldered sixth-former at Fili’s results day and then later at her eighteenth birthday party. The teenager happened to be the only one of Fili’s friendship group who owned a car and so he was forever doomed to be their designated driver, often picking Fili up from Chapel Allerton when they were all heading out somewhere.

But now Thorin suspected there was _a lot_ more to it than that. For all Fili seemed to be the witty, fun-loving extrovert, she made sure her family knew very little about her personal life beyond schoolwork and sports. She had never mentioned a boyfriend the whole time Thorin had known her, but he supposed with Dis’ sometimes overbearing omniscience she was well within her rights to keep some secrets from them… and as he had been reliably informed by Fili herself that all her male friends were ‘shit-scared’ of him, he could understand her keeping a relationship from him too.

And despite everything he had been through in the past fifteen minutes, despite the sun beating down on his back and the inherent embarrassment of the situation, Thorin still found his protective instincts kicking in as Fili and Aiden came to his side. He knew Bilbo would scold him for cocking his metaphorical shot-gun – the thought of Bilbo sent his chest twinging again – but still he couldn’t help but respond to Aiden’s awkward smile with a look of scrutiny.

Fili seemed oblivious to the glare he was directing at Aiden and crouched down next to him. He jumped when she placed a gentle hand on his forearm.

“Sorry,” she murmured, before giving him a quick once-over, no doubt taking in his sweaty forehead and reddened eyes. “Ads, have you got some water in your bag?”

“Oh, er, yeah,” Aiden replied, seeming relieved at having something to do other than shrink under Thorin’s assessing gaze. He reached into his slightly tattered, badge-studded messenger bag and pulled out a plastic bottle of water, handing it over to Fili.

“Here you go, Uncle,” Fili said gently, pressing the bottle into his hand and helping him wrap his fingers around it. “Just sip this slowly for me.”

Thorin did as he was told, taking periodic gulps of water, as Fili slowly rubbed a hand across his back. He knew he should be focusing on the task at hand, but still, he couldn’t stop his gaze from straying to the blonde-haired teenager who was standing in front of him, looking a little more uncomfortable as the minutes dragged on.

It seemed Fili had been aware of this elephant in the room from the moment she turned onto the street with Aiden at her side, but finally she gave in. She put on a smile and said: “You remember Aiden, Uncle? He’s just come along in case we need anything or need to send for someone.”

Aiden gave him an awkward wave by way of greeting and attempted a smile. Thorin returned a curt nod and he could almost hear Bilbo’s scolding ‘ _Thorin!_ ’ which only made his chest start hurting again.

“Is Bilbo still inside?” Fili asked carefully, as if she’d just read his mind.

And suddenly Thorin’s lungs shrivelled and a cold wave of fear swept over him. He had been so concerned with his own panic and then the arrival of Fili’s secret boyfriend that it hadn’t even occurred to him that he had left Bilbo alone in his flat, after an argument, after what he had said to him. _Idiot!_

“Uncle?” Fili said, her hand on his arm again. “What’s wrong?”

“I… I didn’t _think_ …” he stammered, eyes wide with panic. “He… he might have dissociated… I left him alone in there…”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Fili said, shushing him and squeezing his arm as she pulled her phone from her jeans. “I’m going to ring Dr. Grey and ask him to get someone to check in.”

Thorin nodded, swallowing again and forcing himself to exhale as Fili lifted the phone to her ear.

“Hi, Dr. Grey… It’s Fili Oakenshield… Yeah… Yeah, I’m just with my uncle… He and Bilbo have had an argument and I wondered if you’d be able to give Bilbo a ring, see if he’s okay? … Okay… Yep… No, I think we’ll be okay here… Will do… Okay, thanks, Dr. Grey.”

Before Thorin had chance to comment, Fili was suddenly tapping away at her phone, obviously sending a text. At her uncle’s raised eyebrow, she explained: “I’m just texting Bilbo to tell him you’re with me and you’re safe.”

“He won’t care,” Thorin mumbled, unable to stop himself sounding sullen.

“He will, because he loves you, and you’re going to figure this out,” Fili replied, somehow managing to sound both stern and reassuring. “Now, drink some more of your water.”

“Shall I, er, leave you both to it? You… don’t need me to get anyone?”

Thorin lifted his eyes from the bottle to find Aiden looking at him and Fili with another awkward smile, clearly feeling a little too much like a spare part.

“I think we’ll be okay,” Fili said, with an affectionate smile. “Thanks, babe.”

The term of endearment made Thorin bristle, but he hoped he hid it well enough for his niece not to notice.

“Er, cool – you’ll text me if you need anything? Or if you need a lift home?”

Fili nodded. “Will do.”

With Aiden preparing to leave and fiddling with his messenger bag, Thorin held his water bottle out to him in a clumsy gesture of gratitude.

“Oh, no, you’re alright, mate, you keep that… I, er, can pick another one up on my way home.”

Thorin nodded, returning the bottle of water to the pavement at his side. With another round of well-meaning smiles, Aiden turned away and headed off back down the side street to the main road. Thorin watched his retreat, but his gaze was torn away when he heard Fili’s phone chime and his heart missed a beat.

“It’s from Bilbo?” he whispered, throat feeling tight.

“Yeah,” Fili said, smile almost sad. “He says ‘okay’.”

The knot in Thorin’s stomach tightened. “That’s it?”

Fili was rubbing his arm again. “He just needs some time to cool down. He’ll come around.”

Thorin stayed silent. He was relieved that Bilbo was well enough to text, that he hadn’t triggered an episode, but still he wasn’t sure he believed Fili’s assertions that they could come back from this.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Fili asked softly, her hand dropping from his arm as she moved to make herself more comfortable at his side.

Letting out a sigh, Thorin decided he might feel better if he came clean to someone, even if it was only so they could chastise him. “I got home from work early and… I could just tell there was something wrong,” he murmured. “Bilbo’s breath smelled of smoke and when I checked the ashtray, there were about eight cigarette butts in there… So I, er, I asked him about it.”

“And Bilbo didn’t react very well?”

Thorin shook his head. “I didn’t expect him to get so angry… so defensive… He wouldn’t tell me what was really bothering him… and I guess I got angry too.”

Inhaling deeply, Thorin tried to prepare himself for the look on his niece’s face when he admitted his monumental fuck-up.

“… Uncle?”

“He told me his smoking habits weren’t any of my business… so I said they were if it meant he’d found another way to kill himself.”

The comment was met with silence as Fili did her best to keep her expression neutral, but Thorin saw the flicker in her eyes, the tensing of her shoulders.

“I’m a shit person, you can say it,” he said, avoiding his niece’s gaze as he rested his chin on top of Dain’s head, letting the Labrador snuggle closer to him.

“Hey, you’re not a shit person,” Fili said, surprising him as she gave him a gentle nudge. “Look, I’ll admit what you said was… well, it was a bit not good… but Bilbo will forgive you. It sounds like something’s upset him and he started taking it out on you, which wasn’t fair in the first place.”

Thorin wasn’t quite ready to look at her yet. “I still shouldn’t have said that.”

“Sometimes people say shitty things when they’re upset, but it doesn’t make them bad… it just makes them human.”

Thorin finally turned to look at his niece. “How old are you again?”

“Eighteen going on thirty-eight according to Mum,” Fili grinned.

Managing a small smile, Thorin’s eyes moved over the street as they shared a moment of comfortable silence. He retrieved the bottle from his side and took another swig of water. His mind returning to its original owner, he decided he had behaved quite appallingly and it was time to make up for the glares and the awkwardness.

“Sorry I ruined your date,” he said, giving Fili a playful nudge.

He had expected Fili to come back with a quick-witted remark about his behaviour, chiding him for his protectiveness… He didn’t expect her to stiffen and edge away from his side.

“It wasn’t a date… We were in Costa with everyone else, just doing some caffeinated cramming.”

Thorin recognised the same fortified behaviour he had once seen in Dis regarding the Deputy Head post, and he wanted his niece to know that she could trust him, as he trusted her… and that he wasn’t going to spill the beans to the rest of their family.

“You know I’m not going to tell anyone?” he said softly. “This isn’t going to go any further, not to your mum or Kili… or Bilbo.”

“Uncle, Aiden and I are just friends,” Fili said, voice tight. “It’s not like that.”

Thorin knew he should admit defeat, that it was unfair to force Fili into a disclosure, but still he felt he should probably make up for his previous actions and let her know that Aiden seemed like a nice enough bloke and he was happy for her. “Fili, I –”

“He’s not my fucking boyfriend!”

Thorin flinched back at Fili’s unexpected outburst, his heart suddenly pounding painfully against his ribs as he stared at his niece in shock, unsure of what to say… and then Fili was crumbling before him, her eyes filling with tears as she reached out a shaking hand for his.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “I… I am so sorry… I didn’t mean to… to shout at you…”

Allowing himself to exhale, Thorin tried not to let the confusion show on his face. He had obviously touched a nerve, but he still had no idea what to make of Fili’s reaction. “It’s… it’s alright,” he whispered.

However, Fili only seemed to be getting herself more worked up as her face grew redder and the tears ran grey-black down her flushed cheeks. “No… no it is so far from alright… You’ve just had a massive argument, the last thing you need is me yelling at you… I’m so sorry, Uncle…”

“Fili…” Thorin urged Dain to move from his lap so it was easier for him to wrap an arm around Fili’s back and pull her into his side. “I didn’t mean to upset you… I’m putting my foot in my mouth a lot today.”

Fili gave a miserable sniffle and cuddled into his chest, content to just be held. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it and as seen as pressing her on the subject hadn’t worked out very well the first time round, Thorin settled for resting his chin on her blonde hair and squeezing her arm, just as she had done only a few minutes ago. Dain leaned over and licked at Fili’s hand, which raised a small smile as she reached out and stroked his ears.

An age seemed to have past, but then Fili spoke up, her words half-muffled as she spoke into her uncle’s chest. “Uncle, I… I need to tell you something… but I don’t know if you’ll even believe me.”

Fili slowly drew away and Thorin’s arm fell from her back. She was now studying him with an expression full of anxiety, of fear… and Thorin’s stomach manically twisted itself into another knot. He knew this was probably one of those moments dreaded by parents (the words expelledpregnantdrugstattoo did a speedy circuit around his mind) and he already felt horrifically underqualified for whatever conversation was about to happen… but he loved Fili and he hated that she seemed so scared about talking to him.

“Of course I’ll believe you,” he said, his mouth dry and his heart once again thrumming within his ribs. “Whatever it is, Fili, I’ll believe you.”

Fili nodded, looking away from him, out across the street, as she reached up to rub at her eyes. “I… I haven’t told anyone… well, not anyone I actually know, anyway.”

Thorin had no idea what to make of this enigmatic statement, so he simply replied with what he hoped was a supportive ‘okay’.

“So… I need to tell you a few things that people generally don’t tell their uncles, but… so you understand, I kind of have to… for, like, context… okay?”

Thorin nodded, still utterly confused, but hoping this wasn’t going to put Fili off. “Okay.”

Fili took a moment to compose herself, huffing a breath in and out, and then she continued: “I lost my virginity when I was fifteen… at the start of my ‘dickish phase’… I was in with a crowd where everyone was doing it and… well, peer pressure’s a real bitch.”

Thorin suddenly sat up very straight, not sure he had managed to keep the panic from his face. He was so used to Fili keeping her personal life private that never in a million years did he think he would find himself being told about her sex life so openly. As had been established by his sessions with a qualified therapist, he was spectacularly shite at talking about sex. Although there had, admittedly, been improvements this past year, he still wasn’t sure he was in any way capable of talking to his niece about… such things.

“Sorry… this is weird, isn’t it? This is too weird?” Fili whispered, her face pale.

She still looked so upset, so vulnerable, and Thorin knew now was not a time to let his own insecurities get in the way when Fili obviously needed him.

“No, it’s okay… you can tell me,” he said quietly.

Fili drew in a shaky breath, taking another moment to steady herself. “He was a nice enough guy… Thick as a whale omelette, of course, all my friends were back then… but I just wanted to know what all the fuss was about, why everyone was at it…”

Fili stopped, the tears clouding her gaze again, and Thorin’s chest began to ache.

“So we did it… and… and I didn’t like it... Everything they say you’re supposed to feel, I didn’t… there was just… nothing…” Fili scrubbed at her eyes. “It was crap… and I was in no rush to do it again… I didn’t want to do it again.”

When Fili fell silent, Thorin sensed he should say something, but he had no idea what might help… He hadn’t really enjoyed sex until he’d met Bilbo, but maybe she wouldn’t appreciate the comparison. And so he settled for putting a hand on her shoulder and whispering another, hopefully reassuring, ‘okay’.

Fili flashed him the tiniest smile. “I didn’t have sex again… When the same guy asked for another, er, go… I told him I wasn’t interested… and he told everyone…so… so they all started calling me ‘Frigid Fili’.”

The anger came then, crawling up Thorin’s back, feeding off the heat, and he had to stop himself from gritting his teeth.  

“They were a bunch of dickheads, the lot of them,” Fili continued, gaze becoming distant. “I found new friends in Year 11, better friends… nice friends. But they were still obsessed with shagging each other.”

Thorin lowered his head in understanding, although he was sure out of all his friends at school only one or two of them were actually getting any action, the rest were just making up stories based on their dads’ stash of porn videos. Still, no one had ever commented on his lack of sex life or stories. He had been lucky.

“They didn’t say anything at first,” Fili said, picking at a rip at the bottom of her jeans. “And I was happy… but then Aiden asked me out.”

Ah. Thorin suspected they were drawing closer to the reason for her outburst.

“So, I’ve always, like, had crushes on boys… and, erm, girls… but that was it. I never understood wanting to have sex with them, with anyone… and Aiden is really lovely, but I don’t fancy him.”

_I’ve always, like, had crushes on boys… and, erm, girls… I never understood wanting to have sex with them, with anyone…_

Finally, finally, the penny dropped. Thorin’s eyes widened as he cursed himself for his own stupidity. ( _Idiot!_ ) He was a gay man who had only been through the process of coming out in the past year and yet, like the complete fool that he was, he had always assumed that his niece was straight.

All his crash courses in LGBT+ history and identities kicked into gear in Thorin’s mind, but still he stayed silent, not wanting to push Fili into revealing anything she wasn’t comfortable with… and his heart continued its manic beating inside his chest.

“I turned Aiden down… and because he’s, you know, a decent person, he wasn’t a dick about it… but everyone else… Ugh, I swear to God, if Tim talks about the ‘friend zone’ one more time, he’s going to need a special mortar board made for his Oxford graduation so that it sits properly on his inverted skull.”

Thorin probably shouldn’t have laughed, as Fili was clearly quite angry, but she didn’t seem too offended by his chuckle.  

“I… I haven’t told any of them… I guess I’m scared that they just won’t get it… that I don’t feel the same way they do about… about sex.”

Fili’s hand went to her forehead as her eyes suddenly grew watery again.

“I keep thinking that maybe my life would just be so much easier if I wanted to be with Aiden… or if I wanted to shag anyone… like literally anyone… I thought maybe I should try again, with Aiden, with someone who might understand, but I… I couldn’t do it, I didn’t want to do it.”

Fili’s face crumpled into a grimace as she ran a hand through her hair. Thorin reached out to her again, rubbing a hand over her back, hating seeing her so upset, obviously in so much pain, but he knew Fili still had more to say, and so he let her speak.

“I started Googling things about six months ago… like those people who try and diagnose themselves using the internet… I thought there was something wrong with me, that maybe there might be a name for it… And then I found out there was... and that there wasn't actually anything wrong with me at all.”

Fili managed a teary smile then. “I started talking to people online, people who feel exactly the same way as me… and I… I’ve wanted to tell you… for a really long time, but I wasn’t sure you’d understand… that you’d believe me.”

“I’ll believe you,” Thorin said quietly, feeling the tears crowding the corners of his eyes. “And if I don’t understand straight away, you can explain it to me.”

Fili nodded, wiping her eyes again and straightening up. “Uncle, I’m asexual… biromantic asexual to be exact… Always have been, pretty sure I always will be.”

Thorin smiled then, reaching out to squeeze Fili’s hands. Bilbo had been sure to give him a crash course on the asexual spectrum and, following in Bilbo’s footsteps after his own coming out, and wanting to show his full support, he said: “That’s great!”

Fili seemed genuinely surprised by his reaction. “You… really think so?” she whispered, seeming utterly confused by her uncle’s grin.

“Of course,” Thorin said, unable to stop himself smiling, but he couldn’t deny the warm, fuzzy feelings of pride that were smothering the ache in his chest. Fili had been so brave just now and he had never been prouder of her. “Fili, I believe you and I understand... I know it can’t have been easy, but I am really glad you’ve told me.”

Fili nodded, but then she suddenly seemed unsure. Her gaze returned to her feet. “You mean you’re not disappointed?”

“No, of course not,” Thorin said, brow furrowed with concern. “Why would I be disappointed?”

“You… you probably won’t get to walk me down the aisle… and I probably won’t be giving you great-nieces or nephews…”

Fili was looking anxious again and Thorin couldn’t have that, especially when the thoughts had never crossed his mind. “Oh, Fili, those things don’t matter to me… All I want is for you to be happy, and that’s more than enough for me.”

“Uncle…” came Fili’s choked reply, and then they were hugging again.

Thorin wrapped his arms around his niece and let her snuggle into his chest. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I am so proud of you,” he said quietly, feeling the first tear slide down his cheek. “And you know I love you, right? I’ve loved you since the moment my commanding officer delivered the message that you’d been born in the LGI, six pounds, three ounces… and nothing is ever going to change that.”

“Okay,” came Fili’s teary reply. “Thanks, Uncle… Love you too.”

It was a long time before either of them moved, but then the heat forced them apart, and they both reached up to wipe their sweat-soaked faces and necks.

“I… I don’t think I’m ready to tell Mum just yet,” Fili said, fidgeting with her jeans again.

“That’s okay,” Thorin replied seriously. “And I promise I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Fili nodded, then a smirk appeared. “I bet you twenty quid Bilbo already knows.”

Thorin knew Fili had meant this as a joke, but this unexpected mention of Bilbo brought the ache rearing out of the happiness of the moment they had just shared. There were still so many things that needed to be resolved, so many things he needed to atone for.

And as if the universe was just trying to give him a playful nudge, Fili’s phone started ringing. She slipped it from her pocket and looked to her uncle. “It’s Bilbo.”

“You can answer it,” he said, his throat once again beginning its ascent from his stomach to his throat.

With a nod, Fili brought the phone to her ear. “Hi, Bilbo… Yeah, yeah we’re still here… Oh no, I’m okay… just… we’ve just had a bit of a deep-and-meaningful…”

Bilbo had obviously picked up on Fili’s slightly nasal voice as a result of her crying.

“Yep, he’s okay… Cool, yeah, we’ll be with you in a sec.”

Fili hung up the phone and smiled across at him. “Time for you guys to kiss and make up.”

“Did… did he sound angry?” Thorin asked, rather tentatively.

“No, just tired,” came Fili’s honest reply. “He wants to speak to you.”

Thorin nodded, although he found himself quite reluctant to move, fear and guilt keeping him stuck to the spot on the edge of the pavement. Fili got to her feet first, holding her hands out to him.

“Come on, up you pop,” she said, with a knowing grin.

Thorin sighed and let himself be pulled to his feet. He straightened up and brushed down his uniform, before giving Dain an appreciative scratch behind the ears.

“Oh, don’t forget your beret… Bilbo will probably want you to be wearing that later when you guys have some awesome reconciliatory frick-frack.”

The blush in Thorin’s cheeks was instantaneous and he let out a spluttered ‘Fili!’.

“What? Just because I don’t feel sexual attraction doesn’t mean I don’t understand the concept of make-up sex,” she replied, with a wink.

Thorin couldn’t believe she had actually winked at him, but he was glad to see her smiling so much. He reached down to retrieve his beret and followed her back through the wrought-iron gates to the green door.

Fili entered the flat first and he knew he looked ridiculous sticking close to her side like a lost duckling, but he still couldn’t help but look to her for emotional support. Bilbo was waiting for them in the living room, Sting sitting at his side. He looked pale, his eyes red from crying, but he still gave them a genuine smile as they arrived and it eased some of the pain in Thorin’s chest.

“Hey, Bilbo, is it okay if I use your bathroom to sort my face out?” Fili asked, gesturing to the tracks of black mascara now resembling ink-blot tests on her cheeks.

“Of course, Fili, you go right ahead,” Bilbo replied, nodding to his bedroom door.

“Okay, now you two need to sort this out,” Fili said, pointing a stern finger between them. “Don’t make me bang your heads together.”

Bilbo returned a small smile and Thorin only looked even more apprehensive.

And then Fili disappeared through Bilbo’s bedroom door and into the bathroom. Thorin looked to Bilbo, his stomach doing a series of unpleasant flips, and found that he had no idea how to express how sorry he was for being an absolute, utter prick.

“I slammed the door,” Bilbo said, voice barely above a whisper, and his eyes were suddenly shining. “I was so angry and I just didn’t think… I… I’m so sorry… It was a horrible thing for me to do.”

The last thing Thorin had expected was an apology from Bilbo and after the emotional minefield of the past half hour, it was too much. As soon as the first sob left him, Bilbo was there, wrapping his arms around him, pressing kisses into his chest.

“I’m s-sorry,” Thorin choked out, only holding Bilbo tighter, pushing his nose into his curls and breathing him in. “I f-fucked up… and I’m s-so sorry, I'm sorry I s-said that to you.”

“I know, I know you are,” Bilbo soothed. “And I fucked up too… You’re right: there was something wrong, and instead of just telling you, I behaved like a complete twat.”

Thorin didn’t want to force any information out of him, and so he stayed quiet, letting Bilbo rock them slightly from side to side. A few more moments passed and then Bilbo drew away, keeping his arms around Thorin’s waist.

“Today was a bad day,” he said, voice catching. “The depersonalisation kicked in about ten and from that point on, I just couldn’t concentrate… Everything I was writing was absolutely shit… So I had a cigarette… and I thought it helped when it really didn’t… so I had another and another… getting myself more and more wound up.”

Thorin reached up and brushed his thumb over Bilbo’s cheek. “Why didn’t you ring me?”

Bilbo closed his eyes and leaned into Thorin’s hand. “Because I’m an idiot… I… I just wanted to be able to get through this on my own… I was scared of… of feeling like I was going backwards… of relapsing… of ending up back in Ered Luin.”

“Hey, hey,” Thorin pulled Bilbo back into his chest as he started to sniffle. “It’s okay: we all have bad days… It’s just the way recovery works… But you don’t ever have to do this alone, Bilbo… It doesn’t mean you’re getting worse if you ask for help… And I’m always going to be here to help you, good days and bad days.”

“I know,” Bilbo whispered, fingers tightening around Thorin’s sleeve.

“How are you feeling now?” Thorin asked, a little hesitantly, hoping Bilbo would be honest with him.

“A bit better… Our, er, fight kind of snapped me out of the worst of it… I’ve spoken to Dr. Grey: we’re going to have a session tomorrow morning,” came Bilbo’s reply as he turned his head to rest an ear against Thorin’s chest. “And I need to take a break from my thesis for a few days.”

“Okay,” Thorin said, kissing his curls. “I’ll take the day off work and we’ll do something nice in the afternoon, whatever you want to do.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Look at it as you doing me a favour and saving me from the AFCO public sauna.”

Bilbo chuckled at that. “Okay.”

He pulled away and Thorin leaned down to press their lips together: it was a smoke-free kiss, one that had only a hint of minty toothpaste.

And, of course, Fili chose this moment to reappear from the bathroom.

“Glad I don’t have to bang your heads together,” she commented airily as she made her way to the kitchen. “Do you mind if I put the kettle on?”

“No, no, you go right ahead,” Bilbo said, grinning as he and Thorin reluctantly untangled themselves from each other.

“Really sorry for the amount of make-up wipes in your peddle-bin,” Fili said, as she pulled three mugs from the cupboards. “And for, er, intruding like this – I’ll bugger off soon, promise.”

“It’s alright, Fili,” Bilbo said, his expression fond. “And… you know you’re always welcome here, don’t you? That we’re glad to… have you on board?”

“Cheers, Bilbo,” Fili said, before stopping and setting the mug in her hand down carefully on the kitchen worktop. “Wait…” She narrowed her eyes. “Is that a euphemism?”

Bilbo returned a knowing twinkle.

“Oh my God!” Fili turned to Thorin with a look of triumph. “Uncle, you owe me twenty quid!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it wouldn’t be a chapter of the Obstacles!verse would it, if there wasn’t sad crying followed by happy crying?
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter and guys, please know, that all your identities are valid and you are loved. *squishy hugs*
> 
> Also, I have presents for you! 
> 
> The super-amazing-awesome an-odd-ducky has drawn the most wonderful fanart for ‘Obstacles’… and guess what, guys? They’ve only gone and drawn the infamous onesie scene, along with a gorgeous cover for the fic. 
> 
> Please do check the art out here:
> 
> http://an-odd-ducky.tumblr.com/post/153931672256/come-now-thorinits-really-not-that-bad
> 
> http://an-odd-ducky.tumblr.com/post/153830726236/im-sure-im-going-to-keep-tweaking-this-before-i
> 
> Coming up next: There is quite a substantial time-jump and Bilbo is about to become Dr. Baggins! ;)


	5. July, 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! :D I hope you’ve all enjoyed the festive season and have had the best possible start to your 2017. 
> 
> Now, SalH and Morvidra asked to see Bilbo finally receiving his PhD, so we do have quite a substantial time-jump with this chapter. We’re returning to our boys in July, 2019 – about four and a half years since Bilbo’s discharge from Ered Luin. I’ve had a lot of fun filling in the gaps and figuring out what all our characters have been up to – this chapter does very much have an ensemble cast – and I sincerely hope you all enjoy it! 
> 
> An aside: I’m aware from words like ‘gown’ and ‘bonnet’, Bilbo sounds as if he’s attending his graduation in a fabulous bit of drag, but I just want to confirm that this is what the University of Leeds academic dress for doctoral students actually looks like: 
> 
> http://www.chem.leeds.ac.uk/uploads/pics/Benjamin_Crossley.png

Thorin trailed a finger over the darkened wood of the mantelpiece and inspected the light dusting of silver glitter now sparkling on his fingertip. Tom and Briony’s ‘New Home’ card appeared to be moulting again – he was sure Bilbo had swept a coat of glitter away yesterday. Maybe it was time to take it down: their crowd of brightly-coloured cards that had once been clustered together on the mantelpiece (and the newly-painted windowsills) had been carefully packed into boxes months ago, but as Tom and Briony’s had arrived a little later due to their travelling with the Invictus Foundation, it had found itself alone with only the Oakenshield family carriage clock for company. Thorin suspected Bilbo was letting it stay put as a way of preserving the giddiness they had both felt at buying their first home.

Glancing around the living room, Thorin couldn’t deny the smile that sprang to his lips as he took in every detail of the world he and Bilbo were still building together. In this modestly-sized cottage, just beyond the hum of the city, they had managed to weave the strands of their past, present, and future into an effortless, concordant pattern. The house itself was almost two-hundred years old, full of jaunty angles and exposed wooden beams, with creaks that meant many stories to tell rather than disrepair. The furniture that originally came from Thorin’s parents’ house fitted well here, as did the floor-to-ceiling shelves that held their ever-expanding collection of books. The kitchen, despite its paved flooring, was much more modern, fitted with all the flashy appliances that had first made Bilbo go weak at the knees when he thought of all the culinary possibilities they presented – even Thorin couldn’t deny that his own abilities in the kitchen had improved since they moved in.

It was a warm July morning and so Thorin had opened their French doors when he first came downstairs, letting a breeze drift in from the small, rectangular garden. Bilbo really had done an excellent job with the flowerbeds which were now bursting with a haze of red and yellow blooms. The recent dry weather had been a bit of a worry, but Thorin had grabbed a metal watering can about half an hour ago and seen to every flower whilst Bilbo got ready upstairs. A simple bench sat in the corner of the lawn, purposefully placed so Thorin could watch Bilbo whilst he tended to their garden. He wasn’t sure if Bilbo had figured out _why_ he really enjoyed watching him kneeling by the flowerbeds, but then again, he had been able to keep very little from his boyfriend in the five years they had been together… which could mean, at least, that Bilbo didn’t actually mind his ogling.

This thought, about Bilbo’s never-ending omniscience, sent a sharp little spike jabbing into Thorin’s stomach. He couldn’t deny that it made him rather uneasy that Bilbo was moving around their bedroom upstairs, where he couldn’t see what he was doing, but he told himself that the likelihood of him going into Thorin’s bedside drawer for no reason, pulling the nondescript pair of black socks out from the back corner, and having a look at the box hiding inside was very, very small indeed. There was, of course, the chance that Bilbo knew already anyway… but he’d given absolutely no indication so far. Even last night, when both of them had had trouble sleeping – Bilbo because of all the anxieties associated with his graduation ceremony and Thorin because of that pair of socks – his boyfriend had appeared none the wiser. They crept downstairs to the sofa at around three that morning, doing their best not to wake Prim, Drogo, and Frodo asleep in the guest room, and ended up watching the late night shopping channels. Bilbo hadn’t questioned him about his obvious nerves, but had simply started running his lips over the sensitive skin of his ears… and they had quickly made the executive decision to return upstairs.

Thorin jolted when Dain’s nose snuffled into his palm and the Labrador actually looked contrite when he reached down to give his ears a scratch and flash him a fond smile. Even after all these years, with his episodes now very few and far between, Dain would always sense when he was about to lose himself in a train of thought; Dain would always bring him back. There had been the worry, when Thorin was successfully appointed to a post at AFC Harrogate, that Faramir would take Dain from him and give him to someone else more in need of his help, but the trainer had reassured Thorin that Dain was his for as long as he wanted him, that this would be a partnership for life. It also couldn’t be denied that with Thorin’s pastoral duties at the Foundation College, a dog trained to deliver comfort could come in handy when speaking with homesick or anxious new recruits.

Giving Dain another affectionate pat, Thorin glanced up the curved wooden staircase to their closed bedroom door. “Bilbo, sweetheart?” he called out, trying not to sound too concerned.  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Fine, fine!” came Bilbo’s reply, and Thorin heard his footsteps moving across the floor, the dark beams above his head letting out a few faint creaks. “Just there’s a reason these robes come with an instruction manual!”

Thorin smiled at that. Most of the students graduating today would be picking up their loaned robes from one of the campus buildings before they entered the University’s Great Hall, but as Bilbo had been offered a position as a junior lecturer from September, he had already purchased his doctoral regalia and therefore had to be ready and dressed before they all piled into cars and headed for the city centre.

“Do you need some help?” Thorin asked, moving to the bottom of the staircase, one foot poised and ready on the squeaky, second-to-last step.

“No, no! I’ve almost got it!”

Thorin was opening his mouth to respond when the front doorbell’s four chimes rang out. Retreating from the stairs, he went to answer the door and found Dis, Fili, and Kili waiting for him wearing identical grins.

“Hi, Uncle Thorin!” Kili pulled him into a hug as they all squeezed through the front door, Dis shutting it behind her.

Thorin drew away from his nephew with a frown. “You’re taller,” he stated, trying not to make it sound like an accusation as he took in the seventeen-year-old’s lanky form, his legs looking even longer in his skinny, black suit trousers.

“Six foot one,” Kili declared proudly, not even hiding his obvious glee. He then laid his hand flat above his head and moved it over to his uncle’s, measuring himself against him.

“Your hair doesn’t count,” Thorin said, with a sly smile, as he eyed Kili’s mop of dark curls, before scrutinising his nephew’s impressive amount of long, black stubble. “So you didn’t feel like shaving today?”

“I did tell him,” Dis put in, with a tone of exasperation as she dropped her handbag onto the sofa.

“I like my beard,” Kili protested, stroking his stubble with a wide-eyed look of offence.

“That’s not a beard, Kee, that’s bumfluff,” Fili said, folding her arms with a smirk.

“Hey, pipe down, pixie undercut!”

“Children!” Dis’ mock-scolding silenced her children for a second, even if Fili’s hand did shoot up to her short, swept-over blonde fringe, the other worrying, almost-defensively at the shaved hair at the back of her head.

“You both look very smart,” Thorin said, by way of placating them, and there was no denying how grown-up Kili looked in his black suit and thin blue tie, nor how elegant Fili was in her lavender-coloured cocktail dress.

“I see the winged eye-liner has made a return,” he commented, squeezing his niece’s bare shoulder and pulling her in for a belated hug.

“Yeah, thought the throwback was appropriate… Also, I can’t wing for work, so I figured it was a good shout.”

Fili had started a graduate apprenticeship as a junior curator at one of Birmingham’s museums the previous September. Thorin was quite relieved that she had been able to get the week off to return to Yorkshire, especially as the summer months saw a spike in visitors with tourists and the school holidays soon arriving.

“Is that also why you’ve got this in?” Thorin asked, tapping his own nose to indicate his niece’s silver nose ring. Fili only smiled in confirmation.

Thorin suspected his niece was also taking the opportunity to show-off her newest tattoo: a beautifully inked mountain range, the black standing out against the pale skin over her shoulder blade. Thorin himself had paid for it as part of Fili’s twenty-first birthday present – although, due to conflicting schedules, they’d had to wait until she was almost twenty-two to travel up to Edinburgh together so Dwalin could do the honours in his studio on Cockburn street.

“Have Prim and Drogo already set off?” Dis asked, stepping forward so she could peck a quick kiss to her brother’s cheek and brush her thumbs over his shoulders.

“Oh, no, they’ve gone out for breakfast somewhere in the village – they were worried about getting under Bilbo’s feet whilst he gets ready,” Thorin explained. “They’ll be back soon.”

Dis nodded, before lowering her voice. “And… is Bilbo okay?”

“I think his robes have been putting up a bit of a fight, but I’m sure he’ll be down in a moment,” Thorin replied, hoping his sister didn’t pick up on the niggling worry, lurking in the corner of his mind.

On hearing this, Kili called out, loud enough to shake the cottage to its foundations: “HI, UNCLE BILBOOO!”

Dis looked about to say something very stern indeed and Fili had covered her ears, but then Bilbo’s cheery reply echoed down the stairs: “Hello, all! I’ll be with you in a minute!”

Thorin couldn’t deny that he was pleased to witness the return of Kili’s boyish bravado: the past few years had been particularly difficult for the teenager, with the pressures and stresses of his GCSE exams causing his self-confidence to plummet, making him withdrawn and moody. There had been many moments of frustration, of despair, but their family had rallied to support him, staying up and revising together into the night, and in the end it had all been worth it. Kili had passed every single exam, and although his grades might not have been as high as Fili’s, they were still a tremendous achievement and Thorin was so very proud of him.

Passing his exams marked a turning point for Kili: he left Erebor Grammar for a more vocational sixth form college in the city where he could study for his A-levels in English and Psychology whilst also completing a placement at a local primary school, working as a teaching assistant with students with special educational needs. Thorin could still remember the day he and Bilbo had been invited into the school as part of a diversity and equality workshop with the Year 6 classes. They had found Kili sitting on a mat in the corner with a student, helping them read through and sound-out the words in the yellow-paged book. Thorin had seen a flash of a twelve-year-old Kili, visiting him in his hospital room at Ered Luin for the first time and opening a Sherlock Holmes story for them to read together. Thorin thought he had hid the tears well but an unfazed ten-year-old had still pushed an entire box of tissues into his hand and then run off to play with her friends.

“Balin and Dwalin have gone on ahead,” Dis said, when her brother stayed silent. “They’re setting up camp in the Union building as we speak.”

“Ah, okay,” Thorin replied, very eloquently.

There were a limited number of guest seats in the Great Hall, so most of their friends and family would be gathering to watch a live-feed of the graduation ceremony in one of the campus bars.

Dis reached out and adjusted the collar on his white shirt with an affectionate smile. “You decided to go for the suit?” she asked softly.

Thorin nodded. The idea of wearing his ceremonial uniform had presented itself, but in the end he decided that, as Bilbo would never be in uniform again, he wouldn’t wear his outside of work, as a show of solidarity – he explained as much to Dis, who smiled in understanding.

“So…” Thorin gave a cough. “David couldn’t, er, make it today, then?”

“No,” Dis said, her tone rueful, although her blue eyes lit up at even the mention of David’s name. “He couldn’t really organise any cover. His sister, she’s an English teacher, is visiting from the Midlands this week, but he might be able to make it to the after-party.”

Dis had first met David, another deputy head at a local school, during an 'Aspiring Head Teachers' conference for senior management early on in the new year. They’d been seeing each other for about six months now and Thorin had never seen his sister so happy. He could still vividly remember the first time David had joined them for a Sunday Roast: it was a weekend where Balin and Dwalin had just happened to come down from Edinburgh, for no reason at all really, and the whole thing had pretty much been a five-hour shovel-talk. But the poor bloke had borne it all admirably, made them laugh, not backed down in the face of Dwalin’s knuckle cracks or Thorin’s glares… He’d later told Dis that it had been the scariest interview of his life, much worse than the one that got him into Cambridge and his application for deputy headship, but they’d still laughed about it and there was no denying the look of affection in Dis’ eyes whenever they glanced at each other.

With Fili living in Birmingham full-time and Kili busy with college, Thorin was glad Dis was taking the time to do things for herself: after all those years of putting her family first, above everything else, he was pleased that she had someone in her life who was making her smile so much. Fili and Kili had been won over fairly easily, and Kili never complained about the weekends he spent with his uncles so Dis and David could have some time to themselves.

“Is everything sorted at yours?” Thorin asked quietly. “You really didn’t have to offer, you know… I’m sure we could’ve managed here.”

“And given you and Bilbo all that extra stress and extra mess to tidy up?” Dis said, giving her brother a nudge. “Don’t be silly, I’m happy to host… I’ve already got the BBQ set up in the back garden, much more space there anyway. Bilbo would never forgive us if we set fire to his beautiful flowers.”

“Very true,” Thorin agreed, before his gaze flitted back up the stairs. “I… er, I’m just going to go and check on him.”

Dis nodded, and then, noticing her children were suddenly missing, called out: “Fili and Kili Oakenshield, you two better not be eating again!” Sniggers immediately came from the kitchen.

Thorin climbed the stairs carefully with Dain at his side. He knew the creaks were heralding his arrival, but still he knocked lightly on their bedroom door. “Bilbo, love? Can I come in?”

“Oh, er, yes… I’m just about ready!”

Opening the door, Thorin found Bilbo sitting on the edge of the bed with Sting curled up at his side, head resting on his knee. He looked as if he had, in fact, been ready for the past hour and what a sight he was to behold: the doctoral gown was a dark, forest green with red trim and he was already wearing his black Tudor bonnet-style cap atop his curls, the gold tassel hanging in front of his green eyes.

“Oh, Bilbo…” Thorin breathed, warm, fuzzy feelings of pride stirring in his stomach.

“I look like a Harry Potter extra,” Bilbo murmured, avoiding his boyfriend’s eye.

“No, you look wonderful,” Thorin replied, even though he had to admit he didn’t quite understand the eccentricities of academic dress.

He came to sit at Bilbo’s side – the one not occupied by Sting – and took Bilbo’s hand in his, twining their fingers together. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing towards his bedside drawer, but Bilbo didn’t appear to notice. He was too busy staring out towards the door, looking as if he was on the verge of saying something, but thinking better of it, and Thorin felt his stomach tighten a little.

“Okay?” he prompted softly.

Bilbo took a while to answer, but finally he whispered: “This is all a bit surreal… I can’t quite believe we’re finally here.”

Thorin nodded his understanding. “You’ve worked so hard for this, worked and worked for years… It’s bound to feel weird, now that you’re officially _Dr. Baggins_.” Thorin gave Bilbo a roguish grin, the way he always did whenever he used his new title.

Bilbo managed a small smile in return, but then it flickered to a frown as he admitted, voice low: “There are so many ways I could embarrass myself today.”

Letting out a slow breath, Thorin rubbed his thumb over Bilbo’s knuckles. He could completely sympathise with how Bilbo must be feeling, taking part in such a public event, with strangers as well as friends and family watching, and as he was a doctoral student and this year’s winner of the School of History’s Award for Academic Excellence, there was bound to be extra attention heaped on him. A coil of anxiety curled up in Thorin’s gut when he thought about the pair of socks, about the attention he was going to be directing at both of them later that day, but quickly pushed the thoughts into a different corner of his mind.

“You know you can leave the Great Hall at any point,” he said gently, reminding Bilbo of the conversation they had had with the University’s Chancellor and Dr. Grey. “And there’s going to be at least three doctors and four nurses on hand in the Union bar if you need them.”

Ered Luin had managed to figure out a special rota so their staff could attend at least parts of the ceremony and the after-party, and as Bifur would be joining them on an escorted leave, there was always going to be someone on hand to offer immediate help.

“I know,” Bilbo said softly, before turning his eyes to Thorin. “Thank you… for helping me get here. You know this would have all been impossible without you?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure why Sting is getting an honorary doctorate and I’m not,” Thorin grinned, and Bilbo gave him a shove, before pulling him in for a quick kiss, his lips brushing over the silver hair at Thorin’s temple and then moving to the side of his mouth.

“Anyway, that reminds me, I need to get Sting’s gown on before we set off.”

Thorin straightened up, studying Bilbo’s face to see if he was actually joking. “What?”

“The University had a set of custom robes made for him… Hang on, let me just get them out…”

Bilbo rose from the bed and went to fish a bag out of the bottom of their wardrobe.

“I… I thought Faramir was joking about that.”

Bilbo pulled a handful of forest green material out of the bag. “Not at all… He said the gown won’t inhibit Sting’s movement, but he doesn’t have to wear the bonnet as it might be too distracting for him.”

Thorin wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he simply sat and watched, certain he and Dain were tilting their heads in the exact same way, as Bilbo fitted the gown over Sting’s usual high-vis jacket and reattached his lead. Sting took it all in his stride and accepted the handful of treats from Bilbo’s palm for being so patient.

“So maybe Sting does look like a Harry Potter extra,” Thorin commented, with a grin.

Bilbo only ignored him and gave Sting’s ears a good scratch. “You look like a very smart and handsome boy,” he cooed.

“We’ll need to leave in about ten minutes, as soon as Drogo and Co. are back from breakfast,” Thorin said carefully, looking for a flicker in Bilbo’s gaze, but finding none.

“I’ll be down shortly, promise,” Bilbo replied. “I just need to brush my teeth… Say my prayers…”

Thorin laughed at that, his eyes jumping to the bronze statue of Ganesh on their high windowsill, and then got to his feet, leaving Bilbo to finish his preparations. He returned downstairs just in time to see Kili pounce on his sister – who was tapping away on her phone – and wrap his long arms around her in a bear hug, pulling her back into his chest.

 “Kee! Stop it, you absolute tree!” Fili said, trying to wriggle out of the embrace.

“Not until you smile,” Kili said, resting his chin on her blonde spikes.

“Get your bumfluff off my hair!”

“You looovveee meee,” came Kili’s sing-song reply.

“MUM! Kili’s being a dick!”

“Muuummm! Fili’s checking her work emails!”

Dis appeared from the downstairs bathroom and levelled an exasperated glare at her children. “Kili, let go of your sister and come over here so I can fix your tie… Fili, give me your phone.” She held out her hand.

Fili rolled her eyes as Kili reluctantly stepped away. “Mum, I’m twenty-two, I’m not letting you confiscate my phone.”

“But we agreed it was a radio silence on work today – I’ve turned mine off, and you should too.”

“But I need mine for selfie and documentary purposes,” Fili protested.

“Then turn off your email notifications.”

Fili looked about ready for a fight, but after clocking Thorin’s pleading expression, settled for muttering under her breath and moving over to the French doors for a little sulk. Dis busied herself with brushing down her son’s suit and so Thorin went to join his niece for some fresh air.

“Have you heard from Alice?” Thorin asked quietly, suspecting the return of Fili’s short-temper may have something to do with her fairly recent break-up.

Fili’s eyes began to shine a little as they moved over Bilbo’s red and yellow flowerbeds.

“‘Fuck off’ is an acceptable answer to that question,” Thorin added, which did provoke a smile.

“I’m going down to Bromley to drop off the rest of her stuff, sometime next month,” Fili whispered. “Don’t think I’ll end up doing much more than that.”

Thorin nodded, lips pressed together. Fili and Alice had met during their second year at Birmingham and hit it off right away, but unfortunately things became difficult when Fili decided to stay in the Midlands for her internship and Alice had moved back home for a gallery job. Thorin was sure Alice had never quite forgiven Fili for turning down a London apprenticeship and things had eventually fizzled out, long distance simply not working for their relationship.

“Then she’s a fool,” Thorin said, wrapping an arm around Fili’s shoulders.

Fili flashed him a small smile. “Thanks, Uncle.”

They shared a few quiet moments and then Fili turned to him, lowering her voice so that it was barely a whisper. “How are you feeling? All set?”

Thorin felt the coil lurch inside his stomach. Fili was the only other person who knew just how momentous the day really was – it had all started with a phone call five months ago, just after Bilbo had first submitted his thesis, and his niece’s first comment had been: “About bloody time, Uncle – you do realise Dwalin and I packed in the betting pool _like three years ago_?” Yes, it had been years, but he and Bilbo had agreed not to even consider it until his PhD was completed… and so, obviously, Thorin had picked the first available opportunity to get right on it.

“I think so,” Thorin mumbled, deciding not to let Fili know he hadn’t actually retrieved the box yet, that he still needed to get into his bedroom when Bilbo wasn’t there. “You’ve got the video sorted?”

“Yep, it’s all nice and edited, just need to plug my laptop into the TV.”

“Okay, you two! Stop conspiring over there, Bilbo’s ready!”

They both jumped at Dis’ voice, quickly trying to rearrange their expressions into something less guilty, and found Bilbo standing at the foot of the stairs with Sting at his side.

“Oh my God, Bilbo!” Fili cried. “You look awesome! And holy shit, you weren’t joking about Sting looking the part!”

She moved over to pull Bilbo into a hug and Thorin took advantage of the moment to make for the stairs. “Just realised I left my… er, my meds upstairs… Be down in a tick.”

After five years, their family were completely unfazed by casual mentions of anti-depressants and anti-anxieties, but Thorin knew Dis and Bilbo had probably picked up on the slight strain in his voice… Well, it was the best he could do. Forcing himself to not take the steps two at a time, Thorin returned to the bedroom and opened his bedside table. He found the socks exactly where he had left them and pulled out the black box. Checking inside it and feeling a flutter in his chest, he dropped the box into his pocket – next to the plastic pill case that was already there – and tried not to notice how heavy it actually felt. Dain gave his hand an encouraging lick and Thorin in turn patted his head with a smile.

Taking a moment to experiment with neutral expressions, Thorin was heading back down the stairs when the door was thrown open and five-year-old Frodo, dressed in his Sunday finest, bounded into the room, followed by Prim and Drogo.

“We’re back!” Frodo announced, before his blue eyes lit up at the sight of Kili standing in the living room. “KEE!”

Frodo had seen Kili yesterday, but he was now staring at his cousin as if they’d just been reunited after years apart.

“Hey, mate, don’t you look dapper?” Kili grinned, crouching down and giving Frodo an affectionate prod.

“Can we play Jur’sic World?” Frodo asked, flapping his hands excitedly.

“Sure thing, Owen, climb on board!”

And before anyone could intervene, Frodo had thrown himself onto Kili’s back as he made very loud motorbike noises and then ran off through the French doors to make circuits around the garden.

“Kili, you’re going to crease your suit!” Dis called out, watching her seventeen-year-old son run around the lawn, pretending to be a motorbike.

Hearing his mother’s shout, Kili dropped Frodo from his back and the two of them transitioned seamlessly into a scene with Kili pretending to be a velociraptor and Frodo taming him, hands held out in a rather uncanny imitation of Chris Pratt’s role in the film.

“Dis, I’m so sorry,” Prim sighed, although she was watching the boys with obvious amusement.

“Right, I think we need to be heading off, anyway!” Bilbo said, glancing at the silver watch on his wrist.

“Come on, boys, back inside!” Dis said, and Thorin wasn’t sure her slipping into ‘teacher-mode’ was accidental.

Kili and Frodo galloped back into the living room and Thorin went to shut the French doors and ensure they were locked. He had the shock of his life when he felt a small hand slip into his and found Frodo standing at his side, peering up at him with wide eyes.

“Uncle Four,” he whispered, as well as a five-year-old could whisper.

“Yes, Frodo?” Thorin replied, dropping onto one knee in front of him.

Frodo looked nervously around and his family affectionately pretended that they couldn’t hear the conversation.

“I know when it’s your birfday, you say ‘Happy Birfday’, and when it’s Christmas, you say ‘Merry Christmas’… but what do you say when someone’s gettin’ a Clever Award?”

Thorin felt something in his chest flutter again: Frodo had struggled to wrap his head around Bilbo’s PhD and the fact that he was now a doctor but not one you go to when you’re sick, and so he had simply settled for calling it Bilbo’s ‘Clever Award’.

“You say ‘Congratulations’!” Thorin replied, squeezing Frodo’s little hand in his.

“Ohhhh,” Frodo said, seeming satisfied, and then he was pulling his hand from Thorin’s grasp and rushing over to Bilbo. “Congradulations, Uncle Bilbo!”

Everyone laughed and Bilbo reached out to ruffle Frodo’s hair. “Thank you, my boy.”

Frodo then took a moment to scrutinise his uncle’s strange attire, before declaring: “You look like a wizard!”

Bilbo glanced over at Thorin, his expression wry. “Told you,” he murmured.

 

…

 

The University of Leeds campus was buzzing with activity and gowned students were everywhere, weaving in and out of the crowds, getting ready for the ceremony. Thorin, Bilbo, and their assembled entourage made their way through the bustling throngs to the tall, redbrick Union building where the rest of their family and friends would be gathering to watch the graduation’s live-feed.

Bilbo had been very quiet on the car journey into the city centre, but Thorin knew he would be taking the time to mentally prepare himself, going through the motions of self-soothing whilst the world crashed its cymbals around him. In fact, he was probably more visibly nervous than Bilbo was – and he needed to stop putting his hand into his pocket every few minutes, lest someone start to notice and cotton on to his plans.

The sounds of chattering and laughter reached them long before they actually opened the doors into the Union’s Old Bar and as soon as they entered, they found themselves mobbed almost immediately as everyone rushed forward to greet them with cheers and applause. Bilbo’s hand shot out and grabbed Thorin’s, and Thorin steadied him, whispering reassurances into his ear. Sensing their faux-pas, the crowd retreated to their seats and settled for smiles and nods by way of greeting.

“I tell you, this lot are rowdier than the usual suspects in ma local!” Dwalin said, moving around the crowd to meet them. “We’ve pretty much taken over the joint anyway – they’re havin’ to turn people away, send ‘em over to The Terrace to watch the proceedin’s.”

Eyes scanning the congregation before them, Thorin couldn’t help but feel a little shocked at just how many people had shown up to offer their support – there were many familiar faces, of course, but also a fair few people whom he didn’t recognise at all.

“Well, I believe congratulations are in order, Dr. Baggins,” Balin said, stepping forward and offering Bilbo his hand to shake with a wink. “And those are mighty fine robes too – mine were quite plain and boring in comparison.”

“Still not sure about the green,” Bilbo grinned, but shouts of protests rose up from the crowd, complimenting his academic regalia.

No protest was louder than that of Rosie Cotton-Gamgee, who was seated at a table near the middle of the group, which promptly parted so Bilbo and Thorin could see her.

“No, no, don’t do that! You’ll make this look like an outtake from the nativity!” Rosie groaned.

Thorin’s eyes certainly widened when he saw that the nurse had gone from looking pregnant to… well, very, very pregnant since they’d last seen her about four months ago. Rosie was now seven months gone, but she looked about ready to burst. It was quite comical seeing everyone gathered around her like the Virgin Mary, but she also seemed reluctant to move, and so Thorin and Bilbo went to greet her instead.

“Oh, Bilbo, look at you!” Rosie gushed, tears instantly appearing in her eyes as she pulled Bilbo into a hug, trying not to let her enormous belly come between them.

“Rosie, stop! You’ll set me off and I haven’t even got the scroll in my hand yet!” Bilbo whined, rubbing her back consolingly.

“I’ve been crying all morning, bloody hormones,” Rosie muttered. “But I reserve my right to cry all the way through the ceremony, pregnant or not!”

Bilbo gave her stomach an affectionate pat before turning to Sam, standing at her side, with their two-year-old daughter, Elanor, balanced on his hip. Elanor was also Thorin and Bilbo’s goddaughter and she gave them both a shy wave before burying her head in her father’s shoulder, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“Sam,” Bilbo said warmly, extending his hand so they could shake. “So glad you could all make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Sam replied, and he and Bilbo shared a meaningful look, one that held a million conversations, and thoughts of finally-opened letters and sunflower seeds.

After a few, silent moments, Bilbo’s eyes began to search out more faces from the crowd, and then he was making his way over to one of the tables at the edge of the gathering. As people parted for him with smiles and well-wishes, and coos over Sting’s custom-made gown, Thorin couldn’t help but smile as the occupants of the table were revealed: Ori was there with his brothers, and so was Bifur, dressed in an impeccably tailored waistcoat and suit jacket, with his cousins, Dr. Grey, and Dr. Cox standing close by.

“Bilbo!”

Ori was on his feet as soon as Bilbo appeared from the throng, and Bilbo pulled the twenty-four-year-old into an easy hug.

“The hat s-suits you,” Ori grinned, giving the golden tassel a little flick.

“Well, this’ll be you soon,” Bilbo said, holding out his arms to show off his robes. “Although, as an undergrad you’ll be getting a mortarboard instead of a bonnet.”

“And a black g-gown instead of green,” Ori agreed. “It is a lovely c-colour… The last dragon tattoo I de… designed was this c-colour actually.”

Ori had come on leaps and bounds with his stutter since Thorin first knew him as an incredibly shy and anxious teenager: it was always wonderful to hear such fluency in his speech. Thorin knew this must still be quite a stressful situation for Ori to find himself in, but he appeared to be taking it all in his stride. He had also taken to student life like a fish to water, studying part-time for a degree in Art History whilst also designing tattoos for a few of the local studios.

“How’d you like to do me something in that colour, eh, kiddo?” Nori said, purposefully flexing his heavily-inked biceps with a grin.

“I had no idea the colour was going to be so popular,” Bilbo commented. “I’m starting to actually come round to it now.”

“It certainly does suit you,” Dori said, reaching forward to take Bilbo’s hand in both of his. “Congratulations, Bilbo, we’re all so very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Dori,” Bilbo replied, and Thorin thought he saw a faint blush creeping across his cheeks.

“I dropped off everything you asked for at Dis’ house this morning,” Dori added. “All baked fresh, no expense spared.”

Bilbo was about to reply when Bifur started signing something. Thorin followed the graceful movements of his hands and gathered that Dori had also brought a few things from his bakery along to their gathering in the Old Bar. Bilbo and Bifur then began an excited, quick-fire exchange as Bofur and Bombur looked on fondly, every so often nodding their agreement.

Since Bilbo had been discharged from Ered Luin, Bifur had continued his good work by taking the ward’s most vulnerable patients under his wing. Although Bilbo and Ori may have been discharged, the old soldier was never short of company, and his most recent charge was a young gunner who had been partially-deafened in an explosion. The two of them had become almost inseparable this year as Bifur helped him with his Sign Language instruction and became the person to bridge the gap of communication between the soldier and the rest of the world.

Bofur and Bombur were now chuckling at something Bilbo had said, and then the pair were wrapping their arms around him, Bombur almost lifting him off his feet as they embraced.

Bilbo reluctantly drew away just as Dr. Grey, who had been hovering at the edge of the conversation, moved forward with a definite twinkle in his eye. Thorin swore the doctor didn’t appear to have aged a single day since they first met at the hospital five years ago.

“My dear Bilbo,” he said warmly. “I do believe you owe me money.”

It took Bilbo a moment to process this enigmatic declaration, but then he answered with a whine of protest: “That was never a fair bet!”

Dr. Grey only smiled his familiar, knowing smile and Thorin was left completely unsurprised that he had obviously predicted this outcome for Bilbo.

“Well, I’ll let you off that fifty pounds if you’ll simply allow me to shake your hand,” Dr. Grey conceded, holding out his hand.

“As long as this doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to some kind of binding contract,” Bilbo replied, but let the doctor give his hand a very firm shake, the affection and appreciation clear in his gaze despite their light-hearted sniping.

“Poppy, Beorn and Radagast should be along shortly, before the ceremony starts,” Dr. Grey explained. “Dr. March is in charge of the ward round this morning, but he should be able to make an appearance before the day is done.”

Thorin was starting to feel a little like he was escorting royalty when Dr. Cox was the twelfth person to step forward and greet Bilbo. However, he wasn’t sure the British monarchy were usually presented with suspicious-looking gift bags on their visits.

“A little congratulatory present from me,” she said, with an innocent smile.

“Thank you,” Bilbo replied, giving the bag a careful shake. “I’m guessing I shouldn’t be opening this in public?”

“That would probably be best, yes,” Dr. Cox agreed, bright eyes moving to Thorin.

Bilbo looked at a loss as to what to do with the bag and so, without thinking, Thorin offered to take it, prompting a few raised eyebrows. “If this starts vibrating during the ceremony, I’m chucking it at someone,” he said, heat rising in his cheeks as everyone burst into laughter.

“Bilbo?”

Thorin and Bilbo both turned, startled by the sound of the familiar voice, and they found Graham and his girlfriend, Nuveena, joined, as ever, by his service dog, Florence, waiting for them – and it wasn’t Graham, but Nuveena who had called Bilbo's name.

Bilbo’s mouth had formed a noticeable ‘o’ at first, but he quickly recovered with: “I… I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to make it.”

Graham took a few moments to reply, but everyone happily gave him that time, and Nuveena kept her arm locked around his, placing a comforting hand at his elbow. “Well, I figured, since half of Ered Luin is here, I’d be okay.”

This year hadn’t been an easy one for Graham. The warning signs had started appearing around April and interventions had been put in place, but still, on one dreadful Tuesday in May, Graham had gone missing. Nuveena and Graham’s mother had turned up at the support group meeting with Florence, who had been left behind, all of them almost beside themselves, and it had taken the police three days to find him in an alleyway in Bradford.

He had to be readmitted to the ward for a six-week stint, but everyone had rallied around him and he was never without visitors. Thorin tried not to notice how much weight their friend had clearly lost, how pale his skin looked, but there was still a warmth, a spark, in his eyes as he let Bilbo pull him into a hug. Nuveena returned her hand to his arm as soon as he pulled away, no doubt keeping him anchored, as she had done since they first got together.

Those were much happier memories. Born in Sri Lanka, but raised in Melbourne, Nuveena had come to Leeds to study and then never returned Down Under. She’d been a regular at the park where Thorin and Graham went running on Sunday mornings, their paths often crossing during their circuits around the lake. Thorin hadn’t thought much of it until the day he had caught Graham staring when they stopped to rehydrate and reward Florence and Dain. Nuveena was doing stretches, foot up on a park bench further down the path. The pair of them had then been reduced to a couple of teenagers.

_“Oh my God, do you like her?”_

_“What? No… No I don’t…”_

_“Is that why you’ve been running here on Saturdays as well?”_

_“Oh no… Thorin stop looking over, don’t make it weird… I already look like a stalker.”_

_“She’s looking at us now.”_

_“So stop staring at her!”_

_“You’re staring at her.”_

_“No, I’m not… Jesus Christ, she’s coming over…”_

_“Because I waved at her.”_

_“You did what…? Oh God, could we look any creepier? Shit… Shit… Just act cool… act cool…”_

What followed was Thorin’s one and only wing-manning experience to date and he was pleased to say that he had a one-hundred-percent success-rate. Once they’d explained to Nuveena that they weren’t actually a couple as she’d initially thought, things had run fairly smoothly from there and a coffee date had been arranged.

_“I mean, I do like men, but…er, I like women too, women like you… because you’re a woman… er, obviously…”_

_“Nuveena, Graham is going to give you his phone number now.”_

It was difficult, remembering the Graham from before, but Thorin knew they had all had their setbacks in the past few years. Both he and Bilbo had learnt the hard way that recovery was never linear, but therefore they knew that Graham would be able to return from this, and he knew it meant a lot to Bilbo that he had made it to the ceremony today.

“Always knew you were dead clever, glad they’re finally making it official,” Graham said, a familiar humour in his voice, and it eased some of the ache in Thorin’s chest.

“Frodo is calling it my ‘Clever Award’,” Bilbo explained, prompting a few chuckles.

“Love, you probably need to be queuing up for your seat now,” Thorin said gently, eyes flicking to the clock by the bar’s flat screen television, which was already showing the undergraduates taking their place in the Great Hall.

“Ah, yes, right…”

Guests and students had to queue separately to be guided to their seats and now there was a flicker of doubt in Bilbo’s eyes.

“Would you like me to come with you?” Thorin offered quietly.

“No, no, I don’t want you to lose your seat.”

“How about we take you, seen as we’ve both done this before?”

Ivy and Aiden appeared from the crowd and as Bilbo’s face instantly lit up, Thorin knew he was going to be okay.

“Excellent idea,” he agreed.

Bilbo let out a practiced breath. “Okay, this is it…”

Thorin cradled Bilbo’s face in his hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you and you’re going to be brilliant, alright?”

Bilbo nodded, taking a moment to lean into Thorin’s hand, and then he was letting Ivy and Aiden lead him away through the crowd. Thorin watched him go, feeling his own nerves stirring up from his stomach as the box pressed into his thigh, and then Dis’ hand was on his shoulder.

“Time for us to take our seats too, I think,” she said, smiling.

Thorin nodded and then followed Bilbo’s footsteps, joining the rest of his family in heading over to the University’s Great Hall.

 

…

 

From the outside, the Great Hall of the University of Leeds looked like a very beautiful, if unusual, church. It was a redbrick building, designed in the popular Gothic style of the time, and what Thorin liked best about it was the windows. Seated inside the Hall on one of the many rows of red chairs, he was surrounded by glass: glass that stretched from the wooden panelled sills to the high, arched ceiling; glass that seemed to hold the summer sunlight captive in its panes, making him feel as if he were sitting inside a lightbulb, or maybe a Christmas tree ornament. The whole room felt bright and full of fresh air, and Thorin couldn’t think of a better place for Bilbo to become Dr. Baggins.

They were sitting about half-way down the Hall, all the rows in front of them already crammed with chattering, excited families, and the rows behind them were being slowly filled to capacity as the time for the ceremony drew closer. Being six foot two certainly had its perks, and Thorin had a good view of the stage where all the students were already gathered, sitting in rows off to one side.

Bilbo could be easily spotted on the front row with the other PhD students, Sting sitting dutifully at his side… and it seemed quite a bit of fuss was being made over them. Thorin could do nothing but smile as Bilbo accepted an undergraduate’s phone and took a selfie with her, both of them wearing ridiculously huge grins. This then started a rush, and everyone was clambering down the rows to get their own photos taken with Bilbo and Sting – a few selfie sticks even appeared before portering staff came to usher students back into their seats. Thorin was left completely unsurprised that his boyfriend was obviously some kind of campus celebrity, and he was beyond pleased that Bilbo appeared to be enjoying himself, seeming at ease and happy with everyone gathered around him.

“Hey, Uncle, Kee, check your phones!” Fili, who was sitting to his left, had her phone out and was sniggering at something on Snapchat.

Thorin and Kili, sitting on his right, both pulled out their phones and opened a series of Snaps that Bilbo had been taking with the undergrads. His facial expressions became increasingly more exaggerated and most of them were accompanied with ‘#DrBilboSwaggins’.

“We need to send one back!” Fili insisted, holding her phone out in front of them. “Everyone squish in!”

With Fili and Kili leaning in either side of their uncle, all three of them decided on their own imitation of one of Bilbo’s facial expressions and then Fili snapped the picture.

“Oh my God, amazing!” she said, showing Thorin the photo with glee. “Okay, I’m hash-tagging that as ‘squad goals’.”

Fili sent off the Snapchat and Thorin watched as Bilbo swiped through his phone and then an enormous smile appeared. He lifted his head, eyes searching the crowd. Before Thorin could raise a hand, Fili and Kili were waving manically and Bilbo returned a giddy wave, before his gaze settled on Thorin and a softer smile appeared. Thorin felt his heart and his stomach complete a series of synchronised flips, sending fuzzy feelings fluttering out through his entire body.

A hush had suddenly fallen over the Hall and Thorin twisted around, seeing that the room was packed to full capacity, with some families now standing at the back, beyond the last row of seats.

“Is it starting?” Frodo whispered excitedly, wriggling on Prim’s knee.

“Yes, my love, so shh shh,” Prim murmured into her son’s dark curls.

Frodo conscientiously put his finger over his lips.

“Please rise for the academic procession!” a disembodied voice announced, echoing around the Hall, and the entire congregation got to their feet with much scraping of chairs and whispered words of anticipation.

The academic procession then entered the Great Hall, the group of professors and lecturers, decked out in their finest robes, were led in by the graduation ceremony’s presiding officer, the University of Leeds’ Chancellor. Some were wearing the same forest green, red-trimmed gown as Bilbo, but there was also a spectrum of colours and styles within the group, from black, to purple, to gold and blue.

“They’re all wizards!” Frodo gasped, prompting a few chuckles from the people sitting close enough to hear.

Thorin watched as the procession took their seats on the stage and then the Chancellor gave his opening address. Bilbo had repeatedly warned Thorin, and the rest of their family, that graduation ceremonies were actually fairly long and dull things, there being only about thirty seconds of excitement when the person you were there to see got their scroll and a handshake. It was true that their little group did have to watch the handshakes of the entire School of History’s graduates… along with those from the Schools of Psychology, Sociology, and Philosophy, but Thorin found he didn’t mind at all, as he was content to have an excuse to watch Bilbo light up as the students he had tutored were handed their scrolls. He therefore didn’t miss the handful of sly thumbs up that were flashed Bilbo’s way after the students in question had shaken the Chancellor’s hand.

Once the undergraduates had been awarded their degrees and duly applauded, the time came for the PhD students to be addressed. Thorin saw Bilbo shift slightly in his seat, a little crease, probably imperceptible to anyone else at this distance, appearing on his brow… but then Sting was manoeuvring himself between Bilbo’s knees and licking his hands. The crease faded and Bilbo smiled fondly down at the Golden Retriever, giving his ears a good scratch.

“This is it,” Fili whispered, as the Chancellor, a tall man who quite reminded Thorin of Dr. Grey, moved to the lectern.

An excitement seemed to be growing amongst the group of students gathered on the stage and it wasn’t lost on Thorin that many eyes were now looking to Bilbo, who was smiling, rather bashfully, at those sitting around him.

“And now,” the Chancellor said, clearing his throat, and peering at the crowd over the top of his glasses, brown eyes bright and eager. “I have the very great honour of introducing our final PhD graduate and this year’s recipient of the School of History’s Award for Academic Excellence, Bilbo Baggins… whom I believe is also the only member of any faculty to have their own Facebook Fanpage.”

A whoop immediately rose from one of the students in the back row and there were scattered laughs as Bilbo made a little show of covering his face with his hands.

“I spoke to Bilbo before the ceremony,” the Chancellor continued. “And he is happy for me to share a few details with you all about his life and his experiences. After graduating from the University of Birmingham…” A few low boos sounded from the students and there was more laughter before the chancellor spoke again. “He joined the British Army Intelligence Corps and served as a captain in the 1st Military Intelligence Battalion. He fought in multiple campaigns in Iraq and in the spring of 2011, on his third tour of duty, he was wounded in action and invalided back home to Britain.”

The Chancellor paused here and Thorin saw that everyone in the Great Hall, lecturer and student and guest alike, were all silent, contemplating the Chancellor's words, many looking to Bilbo with nothing but respect present in their expressions.

“Bilbo Baggins began studying for his PhD from his hospital bed, but this was never something he wanted taken into consideration. He is the person who taught me that we are not our injuries: that life damages us all at one time or another, in different ways, for different reasons, but we should never let that damage define who we are or dictate what we can or cannot do.”

Thorin found himself holding his breath, the Chancellor’s words stirring so many emotions up within him, and his fingers twitched at his side, but didn’t quite reach for his scar, that was now only just visible, almost hidden as it was beneath the strands of black and grey hair that he had allowed to grow a little longer over the past few years.

The Chancellor leaned over the lectern slightly, as if he was aware that his audience were now hanging on his every word. “Bilbo is one of the most hardworking, determined, and dedicated students I have ever had the pleasure of working with. His four and half years with us have not been without their struggles: they have presented challenges, but Bilbo has always faced them head-on and worked tirelessly to overcome the obstacles thrown at him by academic life. He is also an incredibly passionate and uncommonly caring person who has contributed so much to our community here at the University of Leeds, whilst also working towards his own thesis. He has been a fantastic tutor to our undergraduate students – ”

The Chancellor stopped when shouts of ‘We love you, Bilbo!’ rose up from the group of students, and Thorin realised Bilbo wasn’t just a campus celebrity… he was a campus rock star.

“He has also offered invaluable support to students through our mentoring scheme and his work with the LGBT+ Society. He has been a crucial voice in the University’s campaigns against the stigmas surrounding mental health. In short, during his time here, he has certainly made a difference to the lives of so many of our students, past, present, and future.”

There was a pause in which many students turned to give their congratulations to Bilbo. The selfie sticks almost made a reappearance, but the stern glares directed by the portering staff made the new graduates think better of it.

“Finally, it is also with the greatest pleasure that I award the University of Leeds’ first ever honorary doctorate to a service animal. Sting, who is, as you can see, very much dressed the part…” Bilbo gave Sting a fond pat and many members of the audience half-rose from their seats so they could see him, decked out in his green robes. “… Has joined Bilbo for every one of his lectures, seminars, and tutorials… He has been with him for every late night study session in the library, every stressful moment of drafting and editing, and so it is only fit that he join Bilbo now in receiving his PhD from the School of History.”

A member of the portering staff moved forward with a few quick words of instruction and Bilbo got to his feet, walking across the stage with Sting at his side to shake hands with the chancellor and officially become Dr. Baggins.

And then all of a sudden, everyone in the Great  Hall was on their feet, applause rising up from every row, cheers filling the sunlit room to its ceiling. Thorin suspected the students had started it, but without any prompting, all the families and friends gathered in the audience were joining in. Thorin’s heart was soaring as he, himself, stood up and he felt his eyes begin to prickle as Bilbo was handed his scroll and the Vice-Chancellor presented him with the beautiful, swirled glass Award for Academic Excellence. He shook hands with both of them, but was then asked to do so again so a couple of photographers standing at the edge of the stage could get a few pictures. Everyone then watched as the Chancellor bent down on one knee and held out his hand to Sting, who reacted immediately and lifted his paw so it could be shaken. This prompted a round of ‘Awwws' from the audience, which continued as the Chancellor slipped Sting’s scroll into the purposefully designed pocket on his green robe.

“I can’t believe Sting is now officially cleverer than me,” Fili whispered, grinning up at her uncle. “He’s like the third most qualified person in our entire family.”

Thorin let out a low chuckle, he was about to respond when Bilbo moved over to the lectern and the Chancellor began calling for quiet. The crowds quickly returned to their seats, a hush once again descending over the Great Hall as everyone waited, eager to hear what Bilbo had to say. Thorin could see that he was nervous and waited for Bilbo’s eyes to search him out, which they did after only a few seconds, and he offered him the brightest, most encouraging smile he could manage… which seemed to work as Bilbo cleared his throat and stepped closer to the microphone.

“Hello, everyone,” Bilbo said, fingers curling around the lectern. “The Chancellor has asked me to say a few words, and I promise I will keep this brief as you’re all probably desperate to eat, get drunk, and go to the loo… not necessarily in that order.”

Laughter and sniggers sounded around the Hall: as expected, Bilbo had instantly charmed their audience and already had them in the palm of his hand. Thorin’s heart and stomach did a few extra flips.

“As you’ve probably gathered by now, I’m Dr. Bilbo Baggins, and you can follow me on Twitter, @BBaggins, that’s B-B-A-G-G-I-N-S, and my Facebook Fanpage can be found by typing ‘The Bilbo Baggins Appreciation Society’ into the search bar.”

After the laughter had died down, Bilbo still paused, his expression growing a little more serious, and Thorin felt his eyes begin to sting again.

“There are so many people I need to thank for helping me get here,” he said, voice both warm and sincere. “Our Chancellor was right that it hasn’t always been easy, that there have been times when it was difficult to keep going… times when I was convinced that I would never be good enough…”

Bilbo’s voice caught and Thorin’s heart was in his throat.

“But then there was always someone there to help me get back up again, to remind me why I had to keep going… I want to thank the amazing staff at the School of History for supporting me every step of the way with my thesis. I also want to thank my students, many of whom are graduating today, for their commitment and passion for their subject, for their insight and thought-provoking discussions… So many of them are smarter than I will ever be…”

There was a shout of ‘Rubbish!’ from the group of undergraduates and Bilbo flashed them a grin.

“And finally, I don’t think I will ever be able to express in words how much I owe to my friends, my family, and my amazing partner, Thorin, for all their love and support during these past five years.”

Bilbo’s eyes met Thorin’s then, but Thorin couldn’t quite hold his gaze because, oh, he was definitely crying. He felt Fili squeeze his arm. Bilbo seemed to be taking another moment to collect himself and then the sincerity was back in his expression.

“As the chancellor has told you, I have been to many deserts in my lifetime, and I also know what it feels like to be trapped in those dark, desert places we create for ourselves inside our own minds… At twenty-nine, I thought I was going to die… And at thirty-one and thirty-two, I was convinced I’d never see my next birthday…”

Fili laced her fingers with her uncle’s, thumb rubbing over his knuckles as he watched Bilbo discreetly reach up and wipe at his eyes.

“But then…” His voice rang out unexpectedly strong. “But then, at thirty-three, my PhD proposal was accepted by the School of History at the University of Leeds, and I stand before you now, at thirty-seven, as Dr. Bilbo Baggins… and I want you to know, that if any of you are looking for a sign to keep on fighting… This is it… This is your sign to just keep going.”

Several sniffles could be heard, and through his own tears, Thorin saw that many members of the audience were nodding, eyes shining, hands grasping tissues and other hands.

Bilbo politely declined a glass of water offered to him by one of the portering staff, before turning back to the lectern. “Being a student of History may have taught me that humanity is capable of great evil, of unspeakable atrocities, of hatred… but it has also shown me that we, as human beings, are also capable of great kindness… of acts of compassion and love… and so I leave you all now with the wish that you be kind to one another, that you show compassion and love…”

Bilbo paused, allowing his audience to collect themselves, and then a familiar smile appeared as he concluded his speech: “And as we show kindness and love by giving gifts, why not purchase my thesis from the University bookshop for the very reasonable price of £12.99?”

The gathered crowd's tears immediately turned to laughter and, once again, as Bilbo stepped down from the lectern, riotous applause rose up as everyone got to their feet. Fili relinquished Thorin’s hand so that they could both join in the clapping and Kili began whooping with a shout of ‘Yes then, Uncle Bilbo!’.

It was then that the very pretty young woman standing next to Kili turned to him, eyes wide in surprise, and asked: “He’s your uncle?”

Kili’s voice noticeably dropped half an octave as he offered her his hand, charming grin firmly in place. “He is indeed… Kili Oakenshield, nice to meet you.”

Thorin rolled his eyes, although he knew Bilbo would secretly be pleased that their nephew was using him to hit on people.

The cheering and applause continued, but through the seas of people, Thorin and Bilbo’s eyes met once again, prompting small, secret smiles. Bilbo signed ‘I love you’ and Thorin returned it with raised hands… and that was the moment he knew he had definitely made the right decision in choosing today to be the day, and one hand slowly crept into his pocket, fingers closing around the small black box.

 

…

 

Thorin carefully rinsed the soapy foam from the plate and placed it on the dish drainer, before retrieving another from the sink. Dis had caught him washing up earlier and had started scolding him, but she’d then been pulled away by Fili, leaving Thorin once again to his solitude.

The majority of the after-party’s guests were out in the garden, standing in groups around the oak tree, and some kind of committee, headed by Dwalin and featuring most of Faramir’s support group, had formed around the BBQ and was discussing how best to cook the remaining pork steaks. A few had sought out the shade of the living room, with most of the children gathered upstairs. If the thumps were anything to go by, Thorin would say that Kili and Frodo were teaching them how to play ‘Jur’sic World’, but at least he knew Sam was definitely up there too, so there was responsible adult supervision.

Thorin hadn’t seen much of Bilbo since they’d arrived at Dis’ house, but he knew Bilbo was slowly networking his way around the groups, making sure he spoke to everyone, accepting gifts and cards which were now in a pile on a corner of the kitchen worktop. Thorin watched through the kitchen window as Bilbo spoke to James and Linda, who had been joined by David and his sister, who was pulling her blonde hair back out of her face and into a messy bun whilst they all laughed at something Bilbo was saying.

“I recognise that look.”

Thorin started, almost dropping the plate in his hand, as Rosie waddled into the kitchen from the garden, both hands supporting her belly.

“What look?” Thorin asked, trying not to sound defensive as he moved to the table and pulled out a chair.

Rosie settled herself in it, looking up at Thorin with a wry smile. “That soppy, soft-as-anything look… The one I saw every day for months in Ered Luin, even before you two had figured anything out.”

Thorin didn’t think he really had anything to say to that, but he didn’t need to as Rosie added: “I’m glad you still look at him like that.” She then sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth and clutched at her stomach.

Thorin was at her side in an instant, sudden panic twisting in his gut. “Okay?”

Rosie exhaled, slowly and deliberately. “Yeah… Yeah… He’s just been kicking up a storm since we got here… Here…”

Before Thorin could react, Rosie was grabbing both his hands and pressing them flat against her rounded belly. Thorin’s eyes widened as he felt her baby move, felt the jabbing kicks beneath his palms.

“It’s a boy?” he whispered, voice low and unmistakably awe-struck.

It was a moment before Rosie answered: “Yeah… Sam and I have spoken about it… and we’re going to call him ‘Hamfast’, after his dad.”

Thorin’s hands stilled against Rosie’s stomach. “Does Bilbo know?” he asked quietly.

Rosie shook her head, eyes almost sad. “We haven’t told him yet, but we will, soon.”

“I’m sure he’ll think it’s an excellent choice,” Thorin murmured, and then Rosie was grasping his hand, the two of them sharing a silent moment of reflection.

Thorin’s heart skipped a beat when Fili appeared from the living room. “Okay, Uncle, we’re all set up and good to go… You ready?”

Straightening up, Thorin swallowed to try and relieve the dryness already spreading up his throat. “I think so.”

Rosie looked up at him questioningly, but didn’t press him as he helped her amble over into the living room and sit down in one of the armchairs. It took quite a while for the message to spread around the house, but finally, after several agonising minutes of waiting, everyone was gathered, packed tightly together with standing room only, ready to find out what was going on.

Thorin found himself standing in the middle of the room, Fili off to his left, manning her laptop, which was plugged into the widescreen television mounted on the wall. Bilbo made his way through the assembled crowd, still wearing his graduation gown and bonnet despite the heat, and came to Thorin’s side.

“What’s going on?” he asked softly, taking Thorin’s hand.

“You’re about to find out,” came Thorin’s slightly strained reply as he fought to get the words past the lump forming in his throat.

It was then that a light tinkling rang out as Dis tapped a fork against her half-empty wine glass, calling for quiet. She then looked meaningfully over at her brother. Show time.

“O-Okay, everyone,” Thorin said, eyes moving around the room. “Thank you all for being here, I know it’s a bit crowded… So Bilbo’s speech today really is a tough act to follow… which is why Fili and I have made this video… to try and spare me some embarrassment… and I think it, er, it says almost everything that I could never really express in my own words.”

He gave Fili a discreet thumbs up, hoping his hand wasn’t visibly shaking, and then all eyes turned to the TV screen as Haley Reinhart’s cover of ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ filled the room.

_Wise men say, only fools rush in, but I can’t help falling in love with you…_

It was a song both Thorin and Bilbo’s parents had loved, in all its incarnations, and there had also been one night where singing this, long and low, in Bilbo’s ear, had helped him through a particularly difficult episode… Since then it had become as much their song as their parents'. He and Fili had spent months editing the video and photo montage, compiling images of his and Bilbo’s five years together, and he had never been happier that they had been so consistent with documenting their relationship.

The first photo that appeared on the screen immediately prompted a few ‘Awwws': it was the first time Thorin and Bilbo had ever had their picture taken together, in Bilbo’s room in Ered Luin, with their onesies wrapped around their waists. Thorin was surprised to see how much younger they both looked: him much less grey, Bilbo with fewer lines around his eyes and mouth.

The photos and video clips continued – Thorin and Bilbo actually wearing their onesies appearing next and eliciting a fair few laughs – and the clips faded into one another as Haley Reinhart sang on. Her voice grew quieter as the sounds of the next video grew louder, and Thorin watched himself lead Bilbo into his room, his hands held over his eyes, and then there was the big reveal as Bilbo cried out and rushed forward to meet Prim, Drogo, and Frodo… he then pulled Thorin into a rather eager snog and there were a few whoops from the members of Faramir’s support group.

After a few more photos, including the first ever Oakenshield-Baggins family portrait, another very familiar video clip filled the screen, this time filmed in the very room they were currently standing in and their audience gasped in delight as Thorin opened that golden envelope which held Bilbo’s discharge paperwork. He felt Bilbo squeeze his hand and he managed a quick glance in his direction, but didn’t dare say anything, lest he lose his nerve completely.

It didn’t really help that the next clip was a candid one, taken by Fili on one of their visits to Skipton Castle. She had filmed her uncles walking together through the centuries-old stone courtyard, Bilbo reaching out to take Thorin’s hand as they shared a quick kiss. Thorin remembered the moment Kili had first suggested the trip to Skipton Castle, how at the time Bilbo had never really believed he’d ever get there, but then there they were, admiring the high walls, and Thorin felt the emotion tighten in his chest.

Pictures of a visit to Edinburgh to see Balin and Dwalin were followed by holiday snaps from their first ever trip together where it was just the two of them, accompanied by Sting and Dain, of course. They had driven to Abersoch, a beautiful seaside village on the Welsh coast, and spent a week lazing about in the sun. A video, filmed by Bilbo during one of their afternoons at the beach, showed a rounders match run by a group of twenty-somethings that Thorin had somehow found himself getting involved in as one team was a player short. Thorin was last up to bat and the fielders were frantically organising themselves, spreading down the beach, knowing it was probably going to be a good hit… and it was. Thorin felt the heat creeping into his cheeks as he watched himself smack the ball right into the air and over towards the seashore, sending the fielders scrambling over each other, trying to retrieve it. He then set off running, speeding around the bases in a flurry of sand; Bilbo could be heard cheering in the background, along with the rest of Thorin’s team. He skidded past the fourth base and was immediately met by shouts of ‘COME ON!’ and high-fives.

“I remember that,” Bilbo said, giving Thorin a shove. "I enjoyed spending a week with you sans shirt."

Thorin didn’t dare look at him, but still smiled despite the nerves that now had his stomach in a strangle hold… Did Bilbo understand what the video was saying? Did he know what was coming?

The theme of holidays continued as a photo faded in, showing Thorin and Bilbo standing in front of the infamous signpost that sat in a fishing boat on a roundabout somewhere in northern France. They had both been quite upset to discover that the signpost had in fact been turned back into its original position, now pointing the right way to Calais. The picture segued into a clip, recorded by Thorin, of Bilbo interviewing an elderly Frenchman who had fought with the Resistance during the Second World War. The woman who owned the hotel where they were staying had been asking Bilbo about his research and then jumped at the opportunity to introduce him to her father, who had been able to help him with a chapter of his thesis.

_“What’s he saying?”_

_“He says I speak French ‘like a southerner’.”_

_“I don’t think I’ve ever been so unsurprised.”_

The official photos from Rosie and Sam’s beautiful summer wedding, in which Bilbo had given her away, followed on and there were many more ‘Awwws' … with Rosie also bemoaning how thin she looked in her wedding dress.  The last shot of the wedding reception faded into another video and Haley Reinhart’s voice was replaced by Bilbo’s as he made his way out of the flat in Shire Oak Court and round to his designated parking space.

_“Hmm… I haven’t seen Thorin in a while, I wonder where he’s got to… Aha!”_

Sitting behind the wheel of his brand new Audi, Thorin hadn’t known Bilbo was filming him from the front gates as he spoke to himself, getting increasingly excited as he discovered he could open the boot with the simple touch of a button behind the steering wheel. Bilbo could be heard sniggering as he approached the car and was finally spotted. Thorin saw himself slowly winding down the window, a look of confusion on his face.

_“Why are you filming this?”_

_“Evidence, so when I tell people you’re cheating on me with a car, they’ll believe me.”_

_“Are you feeling left out?”_

_“…Maybe.”_

_“Well… the backseats are very spacious… so if you fancy christening it, we could-”_

The video cut off before anymore could be said, but Thorin still saw that Prim had covered Frodo’s ears whilst everyone else laughed. There was a series of photos from the lecture Bilbo had delivered to the LGBT+ Society, followed by a clip from the History Society formal where he had revealed his party trick: that he knew all the words to ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’ by Billy Joel and they’d all had an impromptu singalong with everyone joining in on the chorus.

Thorin knew which video was going to be played next, but it didn’t stop him cringing when he saw the scene from his fortieth birthday party, with Bilbo trying to deliver his speech. This had been the first time Thorin had allowed himself to properly drink since returning to England and therefore, by ten o’ clock that night, he was absolutely shit-faced. As Bilbo attempted to thank all their guests for coming, Thorin decided it would be a good idea to start kissing Bilbo’s neck, resting his hands on his hips, slurring sweet nothings in Bilbo’s ear. Bilbo had valiantly gone on with his speech, but when Thorin’s attentions became more insistent, he’d become frustrated and scolded him… and then Thorin had started sobbing. The conclusion of Bilbo’s speech had been punctuated by Thorin’s desperate apologies and the video was shaking so much by the end of it because Fili was almost wetting herself with laughter. Dwalin had slung him over his shoulder and carried him upstairs to bed before any of their guests had gone home… Suffice to say, he’d been very careful with his alcohol intake since then.

The photos of Fili’s Birmingham graduation and Kili’s GCSE Results Day signalled that the video montage was now drawing to a close and, feeling his heart hammering against his ribs, Thorin slipped his hand into his trouser pocket. The final two pictures were of him and Bilbo standing outside their cottage on the day they moved in, and of Bilbo holding the letter which confirmed that the minor corrections on his thesis had been accepted and he would be graduating that summer. The screen went black as the song reached its conclusion and words in elegant, white calligraphy appeared: _‘Which leaves only one question…’_

Drawing in the deepest breath he could manage, Thorin finally turned to Bilbo, still holding his hand, and lowered himself down onto one knee. The room let out a collective gasp, before falling into absolute silence as Thorin pulled out the small black box and used his thumb to flip it open, revealing a simple silver ring nestled in the dark velvet cushion. He blinked back his tears so that he could see Bilbo doing the same: Bilbo didn’t appear angry or shocked, maybe a little overwhelmed by the turn of events, but still undeniably happy, the bright spark in his green eyes giving Thorin permission to continue.

“Dr. Baggins… Bilbo… Love of my life…” he whispered, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Will you marry me?”

There was barely a moment’s pause before Bilbo was sobbing out: “Of course! Of course I will! Yes!”

Relief, love, and absolute and utter happiness washed through Thorin’s entire body, banishing all the nervousness and anxiety. Cheers and shouts of joy echoed around the room as he slipped the ring onto Bilbo’s finger, both their hands trembling slightly, and then everyone was clapping as he clambered back onto his feet.

Thorin and Bilbo held each other close, murmuring fervent ‘I love yous’, and then Bilbo took Thorin’s face in his hands and pulled him into a fierce and jubilant kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws confetti* 
> 
> Well, this chapter feels as if it’s been a very long time coming and I’m very happy to finally have it down on virtual paper. I really hope you guys enjoyed - I had so much fun writing it.
> 
> Now, I’m aware that January is ‘Put Yourself in the Story Month’ and I am actually in this chapter, but as I’m also ridiculously shy and not very brave at all, there are like two blink-and-you’ll-miss-them references hidden in 13,000 words… Kind of like ‘Where’s Wally?’: ‘Where’s MistakenMagic?’. 
> 
> A quick health update: I have a hospital appointment next week and then I should be able to let you guys know when I’ll actually be going in for surgery. 
> 
> And some more exciting news: I’m finally getting my arse in gear and writing that Star Wars Bagginshield AU I promised! Its working title is ‘and sow a star divided in us’ and it should be posted sometime in February. It’s going to be set pre-Episode I and here’s a little summary: 
> 
> After his first successful solo mission, Jedi Knight Bilbo Baggins, trained by council member and full-time nuisance, Master Gandalf, returns to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. During an excursion to the sparring arena, he meets a group of Dwarven Jedi from Ered Luin, a mountainous planet located beyond the Outer Rim. Young padawans, Fili and Kili, are full of curiosity at this strange, barefoot Jedi, but Master Thorin, who appears to have the personality of a rancor and mental shields to rival Master Galadriel, is less than impressed. 
> 
> Final note: Guys, I’m aware that if you’re reading this straight away, there are gonna be a hell of a lot of typos. This beast is 13,237 words long and, due to time constraints, was written in two afternoons – but I am going to go back and edit ASAP, please just bear with me! ;)


	6. March, 2017: Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! :) GaiaYukari85 requested some Kili POV, so here’s a chapter of our littlest Oakenshield navigating the trials and tribulations of being fifteen. 
> 
> An aside: When I started writing ‘Obstacles’ in 2014, I didn’t ship Kiliel. Although I have since warmed to the ship, I just wanted to clarify that as Tauriel is Kili’s teacher in the Obstacles!verse, their relationship is very much a platonic one: Kili looks up to his teacher, who really inspires him, and in turn, Tauriel admires Kili's determination and all the progress he's made. Hope you guys understand, as a teacher myself, where I’m coming from! 
> 
> Warning: The first section of this chapter features one homophobic slur and the second section includes a dissociative episode. Please do let me know if you would like a trigger-free summary.

On the whole, Kili was very much a fan of nurses. Nurses had been a big part of his life for the past three years. They had been there to make him feel safe, to explain things to him, to look after him when everything got a bit scary; nurses were bordering on superhero status in his book and he knew his family owed them an awful lot. However, sitting in his Period 5 English lesson, staring down at an extract from Florence Nightingale’s _Notes on Nursing_ , he could feel an unfamiliar and spiky dislike for nurses growing steadily inside him, like a sickly, sinking feeling in his stomach.

Of course, it wasn’t Florence Nightingale’s fault – and it wasn’t the fault of other nurses either – that Kili was struggling to read a word of the 1858 text set before him. Miss Silvan, diligent as ever, had printed it on yellow paper for him and had enlarged the font size… but it was still no use. The little black letters were jumping around the page and no matter how hard he tried, his eyes just couldn’t follow them. Some letters kept flipping around, showing Kili only their mirror-image, and some words looked all crowded and squished together, whilst others were being stretched apart like they were trapped on some kind of medieval torture device.

The usual methods Kili used to decipher reading material just weren’t working with this puzzle of a text. Normally, he could recognise the letters of words, even if they appeared to be in the wrong order, and use the words he could read to piece together a sentence’s meaning… but as the book was well over a century old, there were so many words he just didn’t recognise. The sentences were also a lot longer, the grammar structures bizarre and discomforting. And so all the tricks and fixes he had picked up since his diagnosis at primary school were of very little use… and he’d been stuck, just staring down at the extract in mild horror, for the past twenty minutes. He was aware that he was panicking, and stress definitely made his dyslexia worse, but he couldn’t stop the panic, he couldn’t stop all the horrible feelings bubbling up in his stomach… and his frustration only grew.

He glanced across the room at Miss Silvan, who was crouched by a table, guiding two students through their own annotations. He knew he should ask for help… but he seemed to have missed the boat now. Asking for help would mean admitting that he’d been sat there struggling and not doing anything about it. Equally, the feelings of shame that were pinking his cheeks were enough of a deterrent. He hadn’t thought about the incident for ages, but at times like this, it always came back to haunt him.

On his first day at Erebor Grammar, he’d been expected to fill in the front of all his exercise books… and it was with a hot, fearful spike of embarrassment that he’d realised he couldn’t spell his own last name correctly without a reference in front of him to copy from. In Year 6, there had always been someone around to help him, who understood why he found reading and writing difficult… but it seemed secondary school would not be the same, that it would be just as terrifying and lonely as he’d always feared.

He’d got through three lessons just writing his first name on his book, but when he got to his fourth lesson with a vile, drill sergeant of a teacher, he’d been caught out. Mr. Shagrat had stopped the lesson and barked at him, demanding to know why he hadn’t followed the simplest of instructions and written his first and last name on his Geography exercise book. His whole body trembling and tears appearing in his eyes, Kili had admitted he didn’t know how to spell it and the whole class had burst out laughing. Mr. Shagrat had repeated his words back to him in disbelief, only making everyone laugh more… and the laughter had been cruel, making Kili’s cheeks grow hot as he started to cry.

It was only when, between sobs, he’d explained about his dyslexia that his teacher’s whole demeanour had changed and his face had gone white. Kili hadn’t stopped crying until a sixteen-year-old Fili had been summoned from her History lesson and he’d clung to her as she verbally castrated his Geography teacher, right there in the middle of the corridor. Kili would never dare speak to an adult the way his sister did, but he knew the Oakenshields had a protective streak a mile wide, and as a shaking, sobbing eleven-year-old, he had been glad of it. His mum had rung the school that night, saying very similar things to Fili, albeit in a more eloquent, less explicit way, and nothing like that had ever happened again.

But now he was fifteen, in his first GCSE year, and Fili wasn’t around to come to his rescue. Eyes moving away from Miss Silvan, Kili sneaked a look at Josh, sitting at his side. With a teacher for a mother, he was under no illusions as to how seating plans worked: Josh was a more able student, his brain unchained by any diagnosable difficulties with learning, and he was supposed to be there to help Kili out. ‘Peer support’, Mum called it. In turn, Kili knew his role in this was calming Josh down and keeping him focused. It might work on Miss Silvan’s colour-coded seating plan, but in practice… it was a bit of a disaster.

Josh was focused, but at this moment in time, he was concentrating on folding his copy of _Notes on Nursing_ into a fairly complicated paper aeroplane. His tongue was peeking out of the corner of his lips as he folded the final seam of his creation. Kili felt the first stirrings of anger joining the shame swirling in his stomach: Josh could read every word of the extract, he could understand it without any difficulty, there were no barriers stopping him from completing the annotations. He had simply chosen not to do it and felt this was a far more productive use of his time. And Kili couldn’t deny that he hated him just a little bit because of it.

One glance at the clock confirmed that there was only five minutes left the lesson. It looked like Miss Silvan wasn’t going to be asking the class for feedback and she wouldn’t be annotating the extract on the board for them, so he couldn’t even copy her notes down onto the page. Unable to look at the blurred, taunting words in front of him for a second longer, Kili closed his eyes and focused on drawing in a deep breath, the way he and Uncle Thorin had practiced.

“Oi! Give that back, you faggot!”

Kili’s eyes snapped open just in time to see Callum snatch Josh’s aeroplane from him. In a bright flash of red, Kili smacked his fist down on Josh’s arm. “Don’t use that word!”

“What the fuck, Kili?” Josh growled, squaring his shoulders as his hand rubbed at the spot on his arm where Kili’s fist had landed.

But Kili didn’t back down: he only continued to glare at Josh until his tensed posture slowly relaxed.

“I forgot, alright?” Josh mumbled. “I’ll say ‘maggot’ next time… Sorry.”

Kili nodded, knowing that for all his faults, Josh’s apology was sincere. A turning point had occurred a few months ago when he’d met Uncle Thorin, still in full uniform, at parents’ evening. Kili knew Josh had been thinking about joining the army and talking to ‘like an actual real life gay dude’ as Josh had explained, had gone a long way in convincing the teenager to put the effort into unlearning years of engrained prejudice.

“Sorry I hit you,” Kili said quietly, knowing Mum and Uncle Bilbo would be pissed off if they found out… even if Uncle Thorin and Fili would tell him to hit harder next time.

Josh flashed him a grin, indicating all was forgiven. “S’alright… You got alotta power in those scrawny arms of yours, K.O.”

“What’s going on over here?”

Miss Silvan suddenly appeared in front of their desk, having obviously been alerted to the commotion, and she stared down at them, her lips pursed, waiting for an answer.

Kili didn’t have time to warn Josh about dropping himself in it, before he was complaining: “Callum stole my sheet, Miss!”

Miss Silvan’s hazel eyes moved to the paper aeroplane Callum was still clutching and she wordlessly held a hand out for it. Callum reluctantly dropped it into her open palm.

“This sheet?” she asked carefully, unfolding it and smoothing it out on the desk in front of Josh. “This sheet that you haven’t annotated?”

Kili quickly moved his hands to cover his own blank copy of the extract, feeling the guilt burning in his stomach and heating his already reddened face.

“Well, you’re going to have to come back at break tomorrow and get it labelled,” Miss Silvan said simply.

“What?!” Josh all-but shrieked in protest, making Callum snigger, which only drew their teacher’s gaze to his sparsely-annotated extract.

“Looks like you’ll be joining him, Callum,” she said, her voice tight, and Kili knew the class must have been trying her patience this lesson.

“No way!” Callum cried, looking mortified at the injustice. “That’s so not fair! How come Kili doesn’t have to come back too?”

Kili’s insides shrivelled as he pulled his sheet closer to him in one last-ditch effort at concealing it.

“Because Kili has completed the work,” Miss Silvan replied, and her faith in him only increased his shame.

“No he hasn’t! He hasn’t written anything on his sheet!” Callum insisted, looking about ready to cause a riot right there in the classroom.

“Kili,” Miss Silvan said, turning to him with a look that said she was only humouring Callum, and Kili wanted the ground to swallow him. “Please can I see your extract?”

Kili hesitated for one long moment, knowing there was no way out of this horrible corner he’d been back into… and then slowly moved his hands away from his sheet. Miss Silvan’s expression was surprised at first, and then it slowly faded to disappointment, and Kili well and truly hated himself.

“Why didn’t you ask for help, Kili?” Miss Silvan asked, seeming genuinely concerned… concern which Kili felt he didn’t deserve.

Before he could open his mouth to reply, Callum piped up with: “Because he fancies you, Miss, and he don’t want you thinking he’s thick!”

Josh promptly gave him a shove. “Don’t be a dick, Callum.”

“Josh,” Miss Silvan said sharply, although her glare was for Callum.

“I’ll come back at break, Miss,” Kili whispered, not able to look his teacher in the eye, praying to God and Ganesh that this lesson would just end already…

… and then the bell went and the stampede started. Before Miss Silvan could dismiss the class, they were shoving things into their bags and falling over each other to get out the door. Josh and Callum bolted, leaving their unannotated extracts and exercise books on the desks. In fact, very few members of the class had bothered to actually put their books away and the classroom was left resembling a post-apocalyptic shell crater. Miss Silvan looked exhausted as she brushed a few strands of red hair from her face and began to collect the scattered exercise books from her students’ desks.

Lost in the sheer humiliation of the past five minutes, Kili had taken a long time to pack his things away, and now he was the only student left in the room. Zipping up his bag, he folded Josh and Callum’s worksheets in half and slipped them inside their English books. He then picked them up, along with a few others from the desks behind him, and returned them to the appropriate shelf at the back of the room. There were still a lot of dictionaries left out on the tables, so Kili began a quick circuit, forming a pile in his arms.

“Kili, you don’t have to do that,” Miss Silvan said gently, as she finished gathering the spare worksheets into a pile on her desk.

“It’s alright, Miss,” Kili replied, still not looking at her as he stacked the dictionaries back on their shelf. Maybe he was doing this as a form of atonement, maybe it was because he might be thick, but he could still be kind… and that had to count for something.

Once the dictionaries had been rehomed, Kili began straightening the rows of desk that had been left in careless zigzags when the rest of his class had bounded from the room. He moved down each one, aligning it with the next, and pushing the chairs under.

“Do you want to talk about what happened with the extract?” came Miss Silvan’s soft question, as she moved to a desk, joining Kili in putting her classroom back together.

Kili paused, his fingers folding over the top of a chair. “I couldn’t do it, Miss,” he murmured, feeling the heat growing in his face again… maybe he should’ve just run off with Josh and Callum so he could’ve spared himself this extra embarrassment.

“Was it because you found the nineteenth century language too difficult?” Miss Silvan asked patiently.

Kili shrugged. “I just couldn’t read it… I’m too stupid.”

Miss Silvan straightened up with a sigh. “Kili –”

“No, Miss, you… you don’t get it,” Kili said, feeling his frustration building, along with the guilt and the shame. “I’m like the family idiot… I mean, my mum’s a deputy head, my sister got straight As, my uncle’s studying for his PhD… and I’m not even gonna get a GCSE in English.”

Kili tightened his grip on the chair in front of him, wishing he hadn’t even started this conversation. The last thing he needed right now was pity.

“Okay, Kili, first of all – you _are_ going to get your GCSE,” Miss Silvan replied firmly. “You passed your last mock and your real exam is still a year away, so I won’t hear any more talk of failure… and secondly, from what you’ve told me, your Uncle Thorin struggled whilst he was at school and –”

“He didn’t struggle, he just didn’t care,” Kili cut in, before promptly snapping his mouth shut. He’d _never_ spoken about Uncle Thorin like that before and he instantly regretted it.

Miss Silvan seemed to sense this and stayed quiet, giving him a moment to collect himself.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” Kili said quietly, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “You’re right… I hate the language in the nineteenth century extracts… I just can’t understand it and then when I get frustrated, it only makes it worse.”

Miss Silvan nodded sympathetically, and her expression suggested she was formulating a game-plan, as she had done many times before when he was finding something difficult.

“You did alright with _A Christmas Carol_ at the start of the year… What’s the difference between that and the unseen extracts?”

“Me and Uncle Bilbo did loads of extra work on _A Christmas Carol_ ,” Kili admitted. “I knew the story inside out, knew all the quotes and could recognise all the words when I went into the mock exam… but if it’s stuff I’ve never read before, stuff I’ve got to analyse on the spot… I don’t know how I’m supposed to do it.”

“Practice,” Miss Silvan replied, and now she was smiling, and Kili couldn’t deny that it was encouraging. “Kili, you work extremely hard, and that is definitely going to pay off – even if you’ve never read the text before… You’ve got all the skills, you know what to look for. I think we just need to get you comfortable with the idea of an unseen extract, so you can stop yourself panicking.”

Kili nodded, already feeling a little bit better.

“You don’t need to understand every word to be able to answer the questions,” Miss Silvan continued. “You know, sometimes even I don’t understand every word of older texts when I first read them.”

“I don’t believe that, Miss,” Kili said, his smile shy as he felt like he was slowly coming back to himself.

“Well, it’s true,” Miss Silvan said, moving to her desk and beginning to root through the drawers. Kili watched as she pulled out various bits of photocopying. “Right… Three past papers to get you started. You can work through these with your Uncle Bilbo, and you can give today’s extract a go too… take your time, cover them in scribbles, and I’ll mark anything you want to hand in to me. I promise that, with a little more practice, you’ll feel a lot more confident about the unseen component of the exam.”

She held the papers out to Kili and he took them, looking over the front pages with a combination of anticipation and dread. “Y-you don’t have to mark them… I know you’ve got enough marking to do at the moment.” Again, Kili was the son of a teacher and he knew March was mocks season.

Miss Silvan only smiled wryly. “Well, in that case, you can return the favour by agreeing to be part of my paired reading programme.”

Kili straightened up a bit. He knew Miss Silvan had been enlisting the help of Year 10s to spend half an hour reading with Year 7 students each week. She’d asked him before and he’d said he would get back to her.

“I won’t be any good at that,” Kili muttered, eyes on the floor again. “It’d be like the blind leading the blind.”

“I don’t think so,” Miss Silvan said softly, and she was smiling again. “You’ve come a very long way since Year 7, Kili, and I have a lot of students who would really benefit from your help, from being mentored by someone who understands what they’re going through.”

Kili sighed, rubbing his neck again. “You do know that’s like emotional blackmail, don’t you, Miss?”

Miss Silvan was grinning now. “You sound just like your sister when you say things like that.”

The pang of missing Fili suddenly echoed deep inside Kili’s chest, but he still managed a small smile. “Okay… I’ll give it go.”

“Excellent,” Miss Silvan beamed. “Now off you go, Kili, I don’t want to keep you any longer.”

Kili slipped the past papers into his bag. “Thanks, Miss… See you tomorrow.”

With that, Kili swung his bag up onto his shoulder and headed out into the corridor. He left Miss Silvan’s classroom feeling fairly positive, but then it took all of five minutes for the hope to slowly wither and give way to doubt and worry… and by the time Kili was standing at the bus stop in front of the school’s main entrance, he was feeling pretty tired and despondent about the whole situation.

It was a Wednesday and he was supposed to be getting a bus into the city centre so he could have dinner with Uncle Bilbo and Uncle Thorin. It was a routine that had developed last year and they’d rarely broken it. Kili would turn up at Shire Oak Court around four o’ clock and he and Uncle Bilbo would tackle his homework and revision for a couple of hours before Uncle Thorin returned home from AFC Harrogate. They’d make dinner, finish off any dribs and drabs of schoolwork, and then Mum would pick him up around half eight after she was done being Ms Oakenshield for the day.

Kili eyed the bus stop on the opposite side of the road. A bus would be arriving in five minutes that could carry him back to Chapel Allerton. If he crossed over, he could go home and sit on his Xbox for five hours and pretend school and paired reading and nineteenth century texts didn’t exist. He could ring Uncle Bilbo and tell him he wasn’t feeling well, or he had archery practice that he’d forgotten about that ran until late… Sure, Uncle Bilbo was a human lie-detector and would figure it out easily, but if he was already home, there wasn’t much he could do… it wasn’t like he could drive over to Chapel Allerton and pick him up.

Kili stopped that line of thought in its tracks. What a horrible thing to even consider… and now he’d only succeeded in making himself feel even more shitty. Closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples, Kili stayed perfectly still, vanishing all temptation of crossing the road to the other bus stop. He wasn’t sure what the hell was wrong with him: his mood had been really crap so far this week and now it was making him think awful things about his family. Sighing, Kili realised the sensible thing to do would be to talk to Uncle Bilbo and Uncle Thorin about it… they’d always taught him to speak about his problems, to not let himself bottle things up. And he had to admit both of them were pretty awesome at talking him round from bad days.

Decision made, Kili didn’t hesitate when the bus arrived. He got straight on, flashed his pass, and was soon city-centre bound.

 

…

 

After a short walk from the St. Adrian Street bus stop, Kili made it to Shire Oak Court just before four. Standing alone on the little cul-de-sac, he stopped in front of the silver keypad by the wrought iron gates and buzzed Uncle Bilbo’s flat. He waited, but then the call rang off, no answer coming from inside. That in itself was unusual: Uncle Bilbo was expecting him and he usually picked up almost straight away. Eyebrow raised, Kili tried again, pressing the shiny number nine and stepping back to wait… but nothing happened.

Panic was slowly beginning to tighten in Kili’s chest when relatives of Mrs. Tunnelly appeared in the courtyard and came to the gate to buzz themselves out. They smiled when they saw Kili, some recognition flickering between them, and happily held the gate open for him so he could slip inside.

Kili approached the green door of Uncle Bilbo’s flat with trepidation. He knew he left the door open when he was expecting visitors, but still Kili thought it was polite to knock… which he did, lifting his hand to the door whilst his heart drummed in his ears.

Just as Kili feared, his knocking was answered only by silence.

“Uncle Bilbo?” Kili called, his voice higher than usual.

When no answer came, Kili turned the door handle and slipped into the flat… and was immediately greeted by Sting’s loud, urgent barks. Sting _never_ barked, he only barked when… _Oh fuck_.

Kili followed the sounds of the Golden Retriever’s barking and bounded down the hallway, skidding into the living room, before stopping dead in his tracks, certain he was going to throw up. Uncle Bilbo’s cold, empty eyes were staring up at him and he let out a cry, staggering back and grabbing hold of the table to steady himself.

It was a moment before his mind caught up with him and he realised what it was that he was witnessing. He’d heard about Uncle Bilbo’s dissociative episodes from Uncle Thorin, about how bloody terrifying they were, but he’d never truly understood until this moment. He had actually thought he was looking at his uncle’s dead body, but now he forced himself to move: he dropped his bag to the floor and fell down onto his knees at Uncle Bilbo’s side. He was lying in a twisted, uncomfortable position, his back on the floor with his legs bent at awkward angles under him – he must have fallen from a chair at the table, on which his open laptop still sat. Sting was curled at his side and gave a whine, nudging Kili as he reached out.

“It’s okay, Sting, it’s okay,” Kili said, not sure he believed any of the shaky words as his own trembling fingers went to Uncle Bilbo’s neck, searching for a pulse… which they found, thrumming fast… far too fast beneath sweaty skin. He held a hand in front of Uncle Bilbo’s nose and mouth, feeling his breath hot against his palm. “Uncle Bilbo? Uncle Bilbo, can you hear me?” Kili said, knowing how frantic he must sound as he shook his uncle’s shoulder. But there was no response, Uncle Bilbo’s grey eyes just continued to stare past him at nothing, and Kili was sure he wasn’t even blinking.

“Shit… Shit… okay…” Kili rocked back onto his heels, mind racing as he tried to fight the panic, tried desperately to figure out his next move… and then he was on his feet again, rushing through the bedroom and into the bathroom, knowing he needed to pull the red cord and alert Lee, the warden – he’d know what to do, he’d be able to help. But he stopped when he saw the red light on the ceiling was buzzing and flashing… meaning the cord had already been pulled. Kili knew the cord hung low enough, and the plastic handle at the end was specifically shaped, so Sting would be able to pull it if Uncle Bilbo was alone in the flat, and the service dog had done his job – help must be on the way.

Kili stumbled back into the living room and dropped onto his knees again, his hand going to his uncle’s shoulder. “It’s a-alright, Uncle Bilbo,” he said, wishing he couldn’t feel himself shaking as his stomach rolled. “We’re getting you help… okay?”

Sting stretched himself out against Uncle Bilbo’s abdomen and gently licked at his chin and neck, offering his own reassurance and Kili turned around, looking towards the door. Why wasn’t Lee coming? He had no way of knowing how long ago Sting had pulled the cord… and with a sickly jolt he realised it might have actually been _hours_.

“Shit,” Kili whispered, looking around the room, the panic taking hold again. “Shit… Shit… Shit…” The swearing was in no way productive, but at least it seemed to be helping him regulate his own breathing. Eyes returning to Uncle Bilbo and the awkward position he was lying in, he knew he couldn’t be comfortable… but he was terrified of moving him, in case it was the wrong thing to do, in case he made everything worse.

After a few more agonising moments had passed and Lee still hadn’t turned up, Kili grabbed his phone from his pocket. He knew Uncle Bilbo usually came out of his episodes on his own, without the need of medical attention… He remembered being told in one of the training sessions for relatives of outpatients that episodes didn’t always warrant ambulances, and so he dialled what he hoped was the next best thing.

Dr. Grey picked up after five rings. “Hello, this is Dr. Grey speaking.”

“Dr. Grey…” Kili gasped out. “I-it’s K-Kili, Kili Oakenshield…”

“Kili?” the doctor sounded surprised. “Are you alright?”

“It’s… it’s Uncle Bilbo… I think he’s having a dissociative episode… the thing where his eyes are open but he’s not like actually conscious… and the warden’s not turning up… and I don’t know what to do and I-I’m proper freaking out…”

“Okay, Kili, I need you to take some deep breaths,” Dr. Grey said, his voice low and soothing. “You’ve done exactly the right thing by ringing me, and now I need you to try and stay calm… Can you do that for me?”

Kili managed to draw in a slower breath. “Okay… Okay, I’m calm… Please, please just tell me how to help him!”

“Deep breaths, Kili,” Dr. Grey replied firmly, although his tone was still soft and reassuring. “I’m going to ask you some questions now and I need clear, definite answers.”

Kili inhaled again, more deeply this time. “Okay, yeah… clear answers.”

“Are you in Bilbo’s flat at Shire Oak Court?”

“Yeah, in the living room… but I… I don’t know how long he’s been like this, I just got in from school and found him on the floor by the table…”

“Okay, Kili, okay, now remember Bilbo needs you to stay calm,” the doctor said, voice firm again, but still just as soft. “Is Sting with you?”

The Golden Retriever now had his face pressed into the crook of Uncle Bilbo’s neck.

“Yeah, he’s here with us.”

“And does Bilbo have a pulse?”

Kili’s stomach jolted as his initial fear of finding his uncle dead flashed in his mind. “Yeah, yeah, I checked… but it’s, it’s really fast.”

“Understood,” Dr. Grey replied. “And is he breathing?”

Kili moved his free hand in front of Uncle Bilbo’s mouth again. “He is, yeah.”

“Is his breathing laboured? Is he breathing heavily or panting?”

Kili took a moment to listen, before answering: “No… no, he’s just like… breathing normally… I can’t really hear it.”

“Okay, now can you feel your uncle’s forehead for me, Kili? Can you tell me if it feels hot or feverish?”

Kili reached out and carefully pressed his palm to Uncle Bilbo’s forehead, feeling the sweat-slicked curls against his skin. “No… it’s not hot, but he’s… he’s sweating… like his hair’s wet.”

“You mean he’s clammy? And his skin is pale?”

“Yeah,” Kili whispered, feeling the dread building again. “Is… is that bad? Is he going to be okay?”

“Clamminess is a very common symptom of Bilbo’s dissociative episodes,” Dr. Grey explained softly. “Now, Kili, I need you to check your uncle for other injuries… Is there any blood coming from his head? Any vomit on the floor?”

Kili’s eyes scanned his uncle’s prone form and he rose up onto his knees so he could check the back of his head, he ran a light hand over it just to be sure. “I… I can’t see anything… no b-blood… no vomit…”

“Alright, Kili, you’re doing exceptionally well, you just keep taking those deep breaths for me,” Dr. Grey said quietly. “Now I’m going to ask you to make Bilbo more comfortable… Do you know what I mean by the recovery position?”

“Yeah, we, er, we did it in one of the training sessions,” Kili whispered, finally glad it seemed there was something he could actually do. “You… you want me to move him into the recovery position?”

“Yes, please, Kili,” Dr. Grey replied warmly. “And I would like you to also put a pillow beneath his head and cover him with a blanket, if you can find one.”

Kili eyed the sofa’s cushions and the blue tartan picnic blanket slung over the back of it. “Okay, yeah… I can do that… I… I’m just going to put you on speakerphone.”

“That’s fine, Kili.”

Tapping a button on his phone’s touchscreen, Kili placed it on the floor by his side. “Right, Sting… I need you to move out of the way for me… just move away so I can help him, okay?”

The Golden Retriever was very reluctant at first, but when Kili reached for him, he got the message and clambered to his feet, padding around to sit by Uncle Bilbo’s head. “Good boy,” Kili whispered, giving Sting a quick stroke, before turning back to his uncle. “Okay, Uncle Bilbo, I… I’m just going to roll you onto your side… I’m going to make you more comfortable.”

“You’re doing a brilliant job, Kili,” came Dr. Grey’s disembodied praise from the phone at his side. “Keep talking to your uncle, it will help.”

Kili wasn’t sure if the doctor meant it would help him or Uncle Bilbo… perhaps he meant both of them. It took a few moments for Kili to get over his fear of hurting his uncle, but then he forced himself to push forward, to not let the panic stop him. Careful to keep his hold on Uncle Bilbo’s limp body not too tight, he rolled him over onto his side, tucking one hand beneath his pale cheek. He also reached down and bent one of his legs at the knee, feeling better now that his legs weren’t at such awkward positions.

“Okay… I’m going to get you a-a cushion now, Uncle Bilbo, and a blanket…”

He stood up onto wobbly legs and moved around his uncle to the sofa, feeling a little light-headed but determined. He collected a large, square fabric cushion and the tartan blanket and returned to his uncle’s side.

“Just sliding this under your head now, Uncle Bilbo,” Kili said softly, unable to deny that this narration of his movements was helping him stay calm. He tried not to let his gaze linger on Uncle Bilbo’s vacant grey eyes for too long and instead set about unfolding the soft blanket and draping it over his body, tucking it in around his shoulders. “Okay, much better… You... you can come and sit with him now, Sting.”

The Golden Retriever had been snuffling at Uncle Bilbo’s hair and licking his forehead, but now he went and curled up against his stomach, head leaning into his chest.

“I… I’ve done that, Dr. Grey,” Kili said, still sounding a little breathless, but triumphant.

“Well done, Kili, well done,” came the doctor’s voice as Kili lifted the phone, still keeping it on speakerphone but holding it out in front of him. “Now, can you tell me if there is anything in the room which might have triggered your uncle’s episode? Anything you need to move? Photographs or letters maybe? Or certain books?”

Kili looked around, but there was nothing out of place in the living room… no photographs or letters or books. Just Uncle Bilbo’s laptop open on the table. Kili tensed. “I… I think he may have seen something on his laptop… it’s, er, it’s open on the table.”

“Understood,” Dr. Grey replied, and Kili could almost hear his frown. “Will you close it for me, please, Kili?”

“Yeah, sure…” Kili got, a little unsteadily, to his feet and carefully shut the laptop, before returning to kneeling in front of his uncle on the floor. “What… what should I do now? Does he, er, need to go to hospital?”

“I’ve already dispatched one of our paramedics to you,” Dr. Grey answered gently. “They’ll be with you shortly and will be able to assess whether or not Bilbo needs to be brought to us at Ered Luin.”

“Right… okay, that’s good,” Kili said, almost sighing with relief: he was glad he wasn’t going to be on his own for much longer.

“I’ve also got someone trying to contact Shire Oak Court to discover why their warden hasn’t arrived.”

Kili was sure he almost let out an Uncle Thorin-esque growl at that. I mean, what’s the point of having Uncle Bilbo in a warden-controlled flat if the bloody warden doesn’t turn up when he’s actually needed? he thought, the anger momentarily replacing the panic.

“Kili, I need you to keep talking to Bilbo, it will help him when he comes round from this episode.”

Kili snapped back into the moment, wishing the first thing his gaze had gone to wasn’t Uncle Bilbo’s empty eyes. “Oh, er, right… what should I talk to him about?”

“Why don’t you tell him about something you’ve done at school today?”

Kili felt a spike stab into his stomach and a lump formed in his throat. “I… I don’t really want to talk about school,” he said, knowing he sounded miserable and rather childish.

But Dr. Grey didn’t miss a beat as he replied: “Alright, how about football? Or archery?”

“That’s… I can do that,” Kili said, swallowing to try and budge the lump in his throat.

“Excellent,” Dr. Grey said, and somehow Kili could tell he was smiling. “It would also be of great help if you could hold his hand or touch his shoulder, something tactile to help your uncle on his way back to us.”

“Oh… okay.” Kili placed his phone on the floor again and reached out, a little tentatively, to take the hand that wasn’t resting under his uncle’s cheek. “And… and he is coming back, right?” he whispered, aware of how small his voice sounded, more like a five-year-old than a fifteen-year-old.

“Yes, Kili, he is going to come back,” Dr. Grey assured him. “Now tell him about something you feel comfortable with, something which makes you happy.”

Kili sucked in a deep breath, his fingers twitched around Uncle Bilbo’s hand. “So, my team, the Morley Under-16s, won another match on Sunday… and I scored two goals, and I was really happy you were there to see them, Uncle Bilbo…”

His uncle made no detectable response, but still Kili pushed on, making sure he kept his voice low and steady. “I know football isn’t really your thing and Uncle Thorin drives you up the wall when he’s watching a match on TV… but you know it really matters to me, so you found a way to get involved… My mates thought your tactical approach was amazing and I know our coach was really impressed too… You turned our season into a military operation and it’s really worked… I know the whole team is really grateful for your help and –”

Kili froze when Uncle Bilbo’s eyes rolled back into his head and he turned his face into the cushion with a cough.

“Dr. Grey…” Kili breathed, barely daring to move at all.

“Is he starting to come round, Kili?” the doctor murmured, on the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, I-I think so,” Kili whispered, as Uncle Bilbo let out a quiet groan.

“Alright, Kili, I need you to keep speaking to him,” Dr. Grey instructed. “Your uncle is going to be quite disorientated and I need you to reassure him that he’s safe, that you’re there with him, and that help is on the way.”

Kili nodded, even though the doctor couldn’t see it, and gently squeezed his uncle’s hand. “It’s okay, Uncle Bilbo,” he said, before speaking again, more loudly and clearly this time: “You’re safe… you’re going to be okay and I… I’m not going anywhere.”

And then Uncle Bilbo was blinking up at him, his grey eyes now holding a spark again as they searched out his face. “Th-Thorin?” he mumbled, voice cracking.

“No, no, Uncle Bilbo,” Kili whispered, feeling his stomach twist again. “It’s Kili… but you’re safe, I… I’ve sent for help.”

Uncle Bilbo shifted a little on the floor, his fingers flexing around Kili’s hand, and then he was blinking sluggishly again, studying his nephew’s face. “Kili…?” he asked, sounding a bit hoarse. “Are… are you alright?”

Kili couldn’t help but smile at that. It was just like Uncle Bilbo to be the one having an episode but still wanting to check that his family were okay… and it meant that he had really come back to him. “I’m fine,” Kili reassured him, managing a smile despite his galloping heartbeat.

Uncle Bilbo’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, no doubt doing his whole ex-military intelligence lie-detectoring stuff, but he didn’t comment, only moved his hand carefully out of Kili’s grasp so he could give Sting a stroke. The Golden Retriever licked at his hand and nuzzled into his neck.

“Welcome back, Bilbo,” came Dr. Grey’s voice from the phone.

Uncle Bilbo knitted his brows together, peering around the room. “Gandalf?”

“I’m joining you on speakerphone,” Dr. Grey explained, sounding quite cheerful now. “Can you tell me where you are, Bilbo?”

Uncle Bilbo closed his eyes with a frown. “I appear to be on my living room floor… Was it a dissociative episode?”

“I believe it was,” Dr. Grey replied quietly. “And date of birth please, Bilbo?”

“22nd September, 1981,” Uncle Bilbo answered, sounding tired. “Are you sending the cavalry?”

“A paramedic should be knocking at any moment.”

“I don’t need to come to Ered Luin,” Uncle Bilbo said, noticeably tensing, and there was an edge in his voice that worried Kili… he knew his uncle was terrified of the idea of being readmitted to the ward.

“I’m afraid that is for Lillie to decide, my dear Bilbo.”

Uncle Bilbo looked a little put-out by the response and then he was glaring at the phone. “You better not have called Thorin.”

“Nobody has contacted Thorin as of yet.”

“Good.”

Kili wasn’t sure why Uncle Bilbo didn’t want anyone calling Uncle Thorin. He knew just how deeply his uncles loved each other, and he was sure Uncle Thorin would be the first person he’d want to speak to after an episode.

“Kili, love, would you be able to help me up onto the sofa? It’s just not as cosy as it looks down here.”

“O-of course,” Kili stuttered, snapping from his confusion. He pulled the tartan blanket away and then got to his feet, gently guiding his uncle up off the floor. His movements were a little heavy and clumsy, but Kili stuck to his side, taking most of his weight as he helped him cross the room and then settled him down onto the sofa. He then retrieved the blanket and spread it out over Uncle Bilbo’s lap.

“Thank you, Kili,” Uncle Bilbo smiled, as Sting jumped onto the sofa at his side, settling his head in his lap.

Kili was just going to collect his phone from the floor when a knock sounded at the door.

“It’s open!” Uncle Bilbo called out, and Kili tried to pretend he hadn’t flinched.

Moments later, a green uniform-clad paramedic with short, spikey blonde hair appeared in the living room.

“Lillie, we really must stop meeting like this,” Uncle Bilbo said, flashing her a wide smile.

“As charming as ever, Bilbo,” Lillie replied, coming to the sofa and setting her large bag of equipment down on the floor.

Kili moved to give them some space and Lillie looked across at him, doing a double-take. “You look just like your uncle,” she grinned.

At first Kili thought Lillie meant Uncle Bilbo and was just really crap at small talk, but then he realised she was referring to Uncle Thorin. It was with a pang that he realised that there were reasons both his uncles had become so well-acquainted with Ered Luin’s ambulance crews.

"Are you comfortable hanging up now, Kili?" came Dr. Grey's disembodied voice, making Kili jump so that he had to scramble to avoid dropping his phone.

"Y-yeah... okay, er, I can hang up," he replied, before adding, quietly: "Thank you, Dr. Grey."

"You are most welcome, Kili. You've done absolutely brilliantly today... and now I shall leave you and your uncle in Lillie's capable hands."

Feeling a blush creeping into his cheeks at the praise, Kili murmured his goodbye and then the call ended with a click. 

“And how are we doing with our breathing?” Lillie was sitting next to Uncle Bilbo on the sofa and checking his pulse.

“My resps are fine, it’s my BP I’m worried about,” Uncle Bilbo answered honestly.

“Well, I can give that a check too.”

Kili watched, hovering on the periphery, as Lillie asked a series of gentle questions, before helping Uncle Bilbo out of his cardigan and attaching a dark blue blood pressure cuff to his arm. Kili could feel the crash from his adrenaline high hitting him now and suddenly the fatigue was pulling at his limbs, making him feel so unutterably exhausted. The sheer relief at seeing Uncle Bilbo awake and speaking normally was enough to make him want to sleep for the next decade… and although he would never, ever admit it out loud, he wished Uncle Thorin or Mum or Fili were here, just so he had someone to hug, someone to share in his relief whilst Uncle Bilbo was otherwise occupied.

His wish was not granted however, and at that moment the universe decided to send him Lee the unbelievably shit warden instead.

Lee came galloping into the living room, his chest heaving and his face very, very pale. “Bilbo… Bilbo I am so sorry…”

With another flash of red, Kili moved from the end of the sofa and blocked Lee’s path to Uncle Bilbo, squaring up against the warden, who was barely an inch taller than him. Oakenshield protective streak a mile wide indeed. “So tell me, Lee, if you don’t actually answer that alarm… what exactly is the fucking point of you?”

“Kili,” came Uncle Bilbo’s low warning from behind him, but Kili ignored it.

“What if he’d hit his head?” he growled. “What if I hadn’t been here? What if I’d been late…? God, you are _so_ lucky I’m not my Uncle Thorin!”

The guilt came quite unexpectedly and Kili finally realised there had been a real possibility today of him not turning up at all. He almost hadn’t been here. He’d almost gone home to Chapel Allerton and left Uncle Bilbo alone and unconscious on the living room floor, perhaps to be found only when Uncle Thorin got back from work… The thought made him feel sick again. How would he have been able to forgive himself if he’d taken a different bus? Uncle Thorin certainly wouldn’t have forgiven him.

“Kili, darlin’, I need you to keep your voice down and go and fetch your uncle a glass of water,” came Lillie’s calm, controlled voice, pulling him from his guilty thoughts.

He stalked around Lee and went to the open plan kitchen, feeling his eyes stinging a little at the corners.

“There’s… There’s been an electrical fault with the alarm system,” Lee explained, still sounding out of breath. “I’ve got someone in to look at it… and I’ve been going around and checking on everyone… I… I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to get to you.”

“It’s quite alright, Lee, these things happen,” Uncle Bilbo replied. “It’s sod’s law that I have an episode the moment the alarm system fails… but I’m in good company here, so you better go and check on everyone else.”

Kili turned the tap off before the glass overflowed and blinked against the burning spreading across his eyes. Of course, Uncle Bilbo would have such a selfless, considerate attitude to the whole thing… and it only made him feel even more guilty.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Lee asked, glancing back at Kili. “Do you want me to contact anyone for you?”

“No, no, I promise everything’s under control here, now you must go and check on Mrs. Tunnelly next door.”

With Uncle Bilbo’s reassurance, Lee rushed off back down the hallway and they heard the door go as he left for Mrs. Tunnelly’s flat. Kili dared to venture from the kitchen and returned to the sofa, where Lillie was removing the blue cuff from Uncle Bilbo’s arm. He held the glass of water out, wondering if he was about to be reprimanded for threatening Lee, the slightly-less-shit-than-first-thought warden. But Uncle Bilbo only took it with a quiet word of thanks.

“Right, well, your BP’s looking good and your pulse and breathing are fairly ship-shape,” Lillie declared. “Can you score your pain again for me?”

“It’s around a two or a three,” Uncle Bilbo replied, sipping his water. “So you’re not taking me in, Lillie, you’ll be prying my fingers from the doorframe if you try it.”

Lillie smiled at that as she packed her equipment away. “Oh, I’ve wrestled many people kicking and screaming into the back of my ambulance, sweetheart, so don’t think you’d have me beat on that front… but as it stands, I’ll let you off for today.”

“Thank you, Lillie, you’re very kind.”

“But just in case you’ve been telling me porkies about your pain, I know Dr. Grey’s given you some diclofenac – hundred milligrams should do the trick.”

“I’d be totally out of it,” Uncle Bilbo replied, brow furrowed. “And I won’t do that to Kili. Paracetamol will suffice, I’m sure.”

Lillie nodded, before shouldering her bag and turning to Kili, making him freeze up. “If your uncle loses consciousness or vomits, or has another episode, you call ‘999’ straight away, okay? Whatever he says, no matter how much whining he does, you give us a ring.”

“Oh… er, yeah, I will,” Kili whispered.

Her expression softened. “And no need to look so solemn, you did a super job today.”

Kili wished he could manage a smile, but the guilt stopped him.

“Thanks for coming, Lillie,” Bilbo called from the sofa. “I hope the rest of your shift’s a quiet one.”

“I hope so too, darlin’, I hope so too.”

Kili stayed, standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room, even after they heard Lillie shut the flat’s front door. He made no move to sit on the sofa next to Uncle Bilbo, feeling Sting was doing a much better job of comforting him than he ever could.

“Should… should I ring Uncle Thorin now?” Kili asked, shifting on the spot.

“Your uncle has a forty minute drive back from Harrogate,” Uncle Bilbo replied softly. “And I don’t want to worry him.”

“You don’t want him to get another speeding ticket?” Kili asked, remembering the time the University had called to say Uncle Bilbo had collapsed outside his lecture theatre… that hadn’t gone down well.

Uncle Bilbo folded his fingers around the glass of water in his lap. “It’s not a speeding ticket I’m worried about.”

“Oh…” Kili murmured, realising he’d completely missed the point: of course Uncle Bilbo would want Uncle Thorin home in one piece. “So… do you want me to call Fili?”

“Fili?” Uncle Bilbo asked, knitting his brows together.

“Er, yeah… Uncle Thorin usually wants to speak to Fili after he’s had an episode, so I thought…”

Kili trailed off at Uncle Bilbo’s wry smile. “I’d rather just talk to you, if that’s alright?”

“Oh, right… okay, sorry.”

Uncle Bilbo tapped the sofa at his side and Kili slowly moved to sit down as his uncle set the glass of water on the floor. He wished he could just act normal, pretend that the guilt wasn’t reddening his cheeks, but just looking at Uncle Bilbo was making it worse.

“Kili… I’m so sorry if what happened today scared you, but I promise I’m feeling okay now,” Uncle Bilbo said quietly. “And you have to know you were absolutely brilliant too. I heard you as I was coming round, and you did everything you needed to… I’m very glad you were here with me.”

It was too much, it was all too much, and Kili felt the tears crowding his eyes, making his vision grow hot and blurry. He reached up to scrub at them, letting out a frustrated, choked cough.

“Kili?” Uncle Bilbo put a soft hand on his arm. “Kili, please will you tell me what’s upsetting you? I know my dissociative episodes are –”

“I almost wasn’t here,” Kili gasped out, only feeling his cheeks grow hotter. “I almost went home instead.”

Uncle Bilbo raised a confused eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I… I had a really crap day at school… and I seriously thought about getting a bus back home to Chapel Allerton and bailing on you… and I wouldn’t have been here, I would’ve left you here alone when you needed me… and… and…”

“Oh, Kili, come here…”

Uncle Bilbo pulled him into the hug he so desperately needed and Kili wrapped his arms around his back, pushing his face into the soft wool of his uncle’s cardigan. It was embarrassing, being fifteen years old and so desperate for comfort like this, but it wasn’t like Josh or Callum were about to pull up seats… and right now this was exactly what he was looking for. He clung to Uncle Bilbo fiercely, screwing his eyes up against the tears, and his uncle stroked his back and made reassuring, soothing sounds.

“None of this is your fault, Kili,” Uncle Bilbo said softly, squeezing his shoulders. “And what matters is you _were_ here when I needed you… and you’ve been extremely brave, reacting under pressure in a very scary, very difficult situation.”

Kili lifted his head and rested his chin on Uncle Bilbo’s shoulder, sniffling a little as the guilt slowly crept away, replaced once again by exhaustion.

“It looks like we’ve both had pretty bad days,” Uncle Bilbo said, slowly pulling Kili away from him, keeping his hands on his shoulders. “Do you want to tell me about yours?”

Kili let out a long breath. He didn’t really want to drag all his fears and doubts over his GCSEs back up to the surface… but something in Uncle Bilbo’s expression told him he needed to be distracted, so maybe he’d be doing them both a favour.

“English wasn’t great,” Kili murmured, aware of the enormity of this understatement. “I’m really struggling with the unseen texts and… and I’m just sick to death of having to work harder than everyone else, especially when most of my class don’t even care about our exams… and they don’t realise how lucky they are to actually be able to do something as simple as reading with like no effort at all… I’m just fed up of feeling stupid all the time… feeling like I’m going to disappoint everyone with my crap GCSE results.”

“Oh, Kili,” Uncle Bilbo said quietly, but his tone wasn’t pitying: in fact, Kili knew he was gearing up for one hell of a pep-talk. “First of all, you will never, _ever_ disappoint anyone… Your uncle and I are so proud of how far you’ve come and we know just how hard you work… which is going to pay off by the way, so let’s have a little faith, shall we? Your GCSE results are not going to be crap, because I am not going to let them be crap… I’ll stay up all night with you if I have to, until you get the grades you so dearly deserve.”

“Thanks, Uncle Bilbo,” Kili said, just about managing a smile. He knew his uncle was probably already drawing up battle plans for Year 11 and his study leave.

“And secondly… you’re not stupid, Kili,” Uncle Bilbo said, his expression warm and full of affection. “You never have been, and you never will be… I’ve met a lot of stupid people in my lifetime and I can tell you that you’re not one of them. Your brain’s just wired a bit differently to other people’s, that’s all… mine is too, and so is Uncle Thorin’s.”

“And us differently-wired people have to stick together, right?” Kili asked, managing a smile.

“Exactly,” Bilbo replied, before his smile became a little more grave. “Kili… I spent a very long time hating myself, and it’s horrible for me now seeing you beating yourself up so much... Please be kind to yourself and give yourself a break… because you’re doing just fine, okay?”

Kili felt his eyes prickle again. “Okay.”

“Right, I’m guessing you’ve reached your limit on how much mushiness you can handle for one afternoon?” Uncle Bilbo asked, sitting back, and Kili grinned.

“Yeah, I think I’m about done.”

“In that case… I’m really not up to cooking tonight, so you need to start thinking about whether you want Indian or Chinese…”

“Indian, always.”

“Excellent… and you know your uncle is going to be absolutely insufferable about all this, so I want you to think of ways to calm him down… ways to stop him slinging me over his shoulder and carrying me straight to Ered Luin.”

“Does this mean I get out of annotating an extract from _Notes on Nursing_?” Kili asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Not a chance,” Uncle Bilbo replied, with a knowing smile. “We’re going to do that right now… go and grab your bag.”

Kili thought about attempting his trademark puppy dog eyes, but he knew they never worked on Uncle Bilbo. And so he got to his feet and went to collect his schoolbag from the floor.

So maybe his brain was wired a little differently to other people’s, maybe there would always be barriers to overcome… but then it didn’t matter, because there would always be Uncle Bilbo and there would always be battle plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I may have accidentally included a more obvious self-insert in this chapter. Oops! ;)
> 
> So, guys, I’m hoping to post the first chapter of my Star Wars Bagginshield AU, ‘and sow a star divided in us’, next weekend, but I have in no way abandoned ‘Dust in the Road’. I’ve never written two fics at the same time before, so I’m not 100% sure how my posting schedule is going to work, but rest assured that whether in this galaxy or one far, far away (sorry…) there will be Bagginshield.
> 
> A quick health update: I went for my appointment and now I’ve been booked in for yet more tests and another scan – which isn't happening until March – so I’m pretty pissed off that things aren’t moving as quickly as I’d hoped, but as ever, I shall keep you all posted as things progress!


	7. March, 2017: Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Apologies for the delay and the shorter length of this chapter – alas, time constraints have made it so. However this update, a continuation of the last chapter, does have more schmoop and fluff and family feels than you can shake a stick at. *looks awkwardly down at stick in hands* *puts stick away*

“Poverty… Social divide… The Great Exhibition in… in 1851… Railways… Industrialisation… I-N-D-U-S-T-R… A-I… No, I-A… L-I-S-A-T-I-O-N…”

Kili spoke to himself in a steady whisper, running through all the things he and Uncle Bilbo had discussed about the historical contexts of nineteenth century literature and non-fiction. He knew he could get a lot of marks in the exam for being able to explain how a text’s background had influenced its author, and so it did help having an uncle studying for a PhD in Modern History.

“Sanitation… S-A-N-I-T-A-T-I-O-N… Workhouses… Conservative government… Trafalgar Square… Establishing the Metropolitan police force…”

Rinsing the soapy foam from the plate, Kili gave it a few shakes and then placed it on the draining board next to the sink to dry, along with the rest of their things from dinner. Although they had ordered a takeaway, he and Uncle Bilbo had decided to be civilised and had sat at the table, eating their curries and bhajis and samosas off plates with proper cutlery.

Kili pulled the plug from the sink and wiped his hands on the tea towel he’d slung over his shoulder. His eyes moved over to the sofa, where Uncle Bilbo was still asleep, his head lolling against the sofa’s back. Sting was curled up at his side, head resting, quite protectively, in his lap and every so often he licked at Uncle Bilbo’s hand, as if to reassure him that he was there and that he was safe.

The paracetamol had failed to take the edge off Uncle Bilbo’s headache and although he was initially very reluctant, Kili had persuaded him to take the diclofenac Lillie had recommended. He knew the medication made Uncle Bilbo very drowsy, but he’d reminded him that Uncle Thorin would be home soon and he really didn’t mind Uncle Bilbo being poor company – he just didn’t want him to be in pain. After eventually agreeing, Uncle Bilbo had dropped off to sleep fairly quickly and Kili had draped the blue tartan blanket over his knee and then gone to see to the washing up.

“British Empire… Imperialism… I-M-P-I-R… I-M-P- _E_ -R-I-A… L-I-S-M…”

Kili turned on the hot tap again to rinse the soap suds from the sink, unable to stop his eyes flitting to the hallway. Uncle Thorin was about twenty minutes later than usual. They’d known he wouldn’t be home in time to join them for their Indian, so some lamb rogan josh and a garlic naan had been saved, kept warm inside their cardboard takeaway boxes… but now they were most certainly going cold. Kili tried to tell himself he wasn’t worried, but still there were a few creeping, sickly feelings sliding about in the bottom of his stomach. He knew he’d feel much better when Uncle Thorin was home, safe and sound.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, making him smack into the cupboard under the sink as he jumped. Drying his hands again, he slipped his phone from his school trousers, half-hoping it would be a text from Uncle Thorin, but instead found another Snapchat from Fili. His sister had been sending him a steady stream of Snaps all evening – because she was stuck in the Birmingham University library writing an essay and she was bored. Unlocking his phone, he tapped the grey box that bore Fili’s cringeworthy username – ‘Ya Fili Me?’ – and opened the Snap. He was greeted with a selfie of his sister pulling a puppy-eyed expression, complete with wobbly bottom lip and the text ‘why aren’t you acknowledging my witty and hilarious snaps? #poorshowlittlebro’.

Kili sighed, considering replying and insulting the awful Anthropology puns that she’d been sending along with rather terrifying pictures from the ancient textbooks she was using for her essay. He had also been thinking about ringing her, just to soothe his nerves, but he didn’t want to wake Uncle Bilbo… or risk the chance of missing a message from Uncle Thorin. He’d send her something as soon as their uncle was home – probably a terrible 19th century history pun in retaliation or maybe even a goading comment about why she still hadn’t asked Alice out on a date yet.

Tapping back to his home screen, Kili’s thumb hovered over his contacts, the temptation to just call Uncle Thorin, confess everything and ask him to hurry up and get back here becoming quite overwhelming… and that was when he heard footsteps outside the flat’s door and the scrape of a key in the lock.

“Sorry I’m late! The A61 was a bloody nightmare…”

Kili darted into the hallway as Uncle Thoin shut the door and immediately shushed him, bringing his finger to his lips, as if scolding a naughty child. Uncle Thorin stopped, one eyebrow raised, but didn’t speak again as he reached down to run his fingers over the top of Dain’s head.

“Uncle Bilbo’s asleep,” Kili explained in a whisper, still barring his uncle’s way to the living room.

“Asleep?” Uncle Thorin asked, with a confused, almost disbelieving smile… but then his face fell and Kili felt rather than saw him stiffen. “What’s happened? Isn’t he feeling very well?”

Kili didn’t budge from the hallway as Uncle Thorin peered over his shoulder, trying to get a look at Uncle Bilbo, still sleeping soundly on the sofa. He’d promised his uncle that he wouldn’t let a fuss be made, so he figured it’d be a good idea to let Uncle Thorin calm down first.

“Kili,” Uncle Thorin said, definitely using his ‘Captain Oakenshield’ voice, and he certainly didn’t sound very calm.

Kili swallowed before replying: “Uncle Bilbo… had a dissociative episode this afternoon. I, er, found him when I got in from school…”

Uncle Thorin’s eyes widened and even in the dimmer lighting of the hallway, Kili could see he was looking very pale. “He… he had an episode?” he breathed, voice a harsh whisper, expression becoming a little wild. “Why the hell didn’t you ring me?”

Although his latest growth spurt meant he was only a few inches shorter than Uncle Thorin, Kili suddenly felt very small and not at all in control of the situation. “Uncle Bilbo asked me not to…”

Uncle Thorin let out a frustrated growl and moved passed him down the hallway but Kili’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm. “Please don’t be angry with him, Uncle Thorin, please…!”

At his nephew’s desperate pleading, Uncle Thorin stilled and slowly turned back around as Kili’s fingers fell from his arm. He looked a little conflicted, the worry and the annoyance clashing in his expression, but the concern evident in his furrowed brow appeared to be winning.

“He was worried that if we told you, you’d panic and end up crashing your car or getting nicked or something…” Kili explained, a touch of pleading lingering in his tone. “He wasn’t trying to keep it from you; we were going to tell you as soon as you got home.”

Uncle Thorin was still frowning, his lips pressed together, and he was silent for a few moments, no doubt weighing up everything that had been said. Kili knew his uncle hated the idea of Uncle Bilbo lying to him. It had only been last year that he had been told the truth about Uncle Bilbo’s suicide attempts – a truth he had been too young to hear at twelve-years-old – but still he understood why the thought of Uncle Bilbo hiding anything from him would get his back up. He just hoped he had been able to reassure him that this really wasn’t the case and that, as ever, Uncle Bilbo had been thinking of others before himself.

“Did you go to Ered Luin?” Uncle Thorin asked quietly, a gentleness appearing in his expression.

Kili shook his head. “Dr. Grey sent a paramedic, Lillie – she said Uncle Bilbo didn’t need to go to the hospital. But he did take some diclofenac for his headache… He fell asleep about half an hour ago.”

“Okay,” Uncle Thorin said, his brows creasing again. He took a step down the hallway and when Kili opened his mouth to protest, his uncle put a hand on his shoulder, his small smile one of reassurance. “I promise I’m not going to be angry with him.”

Kili nodded, letting his uncle go, and he followed him down the hallway and into the living room. Uncle Thorin pulled off his khaki beret and placed it on the table in the corner, wiping his forehead with one hand. He then leaned down and unclipped Dain’s lead from his AFC Harrogate-issued jacket – the service dog was now as much in uniform as his partner.

Kili hovered, a little nervously, by the open plan kitchen as Uncle Thorin moved around to the sofa and lowered himself down onto it at Uncle Bilbo’s side. Dain snuffled at Sting in greeting but, sensing his friend didn’t need any distractions, he didn’t bother him further and instead went and slumped down onto the floor at Uncle Thorin’s feet. Uncle Bilbo stirred then and made a soft sound in his sleep, but didn’t wake as his fingers twitched against the tartan blanket.

Uncle Thorin reached out and took Uncle Bilbo’s hand in his. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Uncle Bilbo’s forehead, rousing him from sleep in the gentlest way possible and Kili was quite relieved to see a familiar, fond expression on his uncle’s face.

Uncle Bilbo’s eyes opened slowly and his gaze was a little unfocused as he murmured a groggy “You’re home”. A smile appeared and he just looked so genuinely happy to see Uncle Thorin sitting next to him.

“Sorry I’m a bit late getting back,” Uncle Thorin said, returning the smile. “The traffic was horrendous.”

Uncle Bilbo nodded, straightening up, one hand going to rub at his neck. “I must have dropped off,” he mumbled, almost absently, as his eyes flicked to the watch on his wrist.

Uncle Thorin had gone very still again and his silence seemed to pull Uncle Bilbo a little further out of his diclofenac fog. His gaze moved to Kili, still standing out of the way by the kitchen, and then back to Uncle Thorin, confirming that the jig was indeed up.

“Thorin, please don’t make a fuss…” he sighed, although the sigh quickly became a yawn. “I’m fine.”

“You’re exhausted,” Uncle Thorin countered, tone careful. “You need to go to bed, love.”

“But it’s only half seven,” Uncle Bilbo replied, giving Sting a stroke as the Golden Retriever nudged into his stomach.

“Then think of it as a nap,” came Uncle Thorin’s patient response. “If you wake up later, you can get up and eat something, have a shower, but right now you need to sleep.”

Uncle Bilbo seemed to consider arguing for a moment but then, shoulders sinking in defeat, he decided against it. “Alright, alright… Bed it is.”

Uncle Thorin got to his feet as Uncle Bilbo pulled the blanket away. Uncle Thorin helped him up and didn’t comment on his unsteadiness, only moved a hand to his back to stop him swaying slightly on the spot. Sting jumped down from the sofa and stuck to Uncle Bilbo’s side as he moved across the living room in a sleepy shuffle.

“I feel almost as old as you,” Uncle Bilbo complained, leaning into Uncle Thorin’s side and letting him take some of his weight.

“Yes, I forgot how funny you are when you’re drugged,” Uncle Thorin said, although he was smiling as his nose brushed Uncle Bilbo’s curls.

Uncle Bilbo suddenly brought them to a stop half-way to the bedroom door and turned to Kili, who froze at being once again involved in the scene that he had been watching as an almost-detached observer.

“ _Overwatch_ , _Final Fantasy XV_ , or _Halo 5_?” Uncle Bilbo asked pleasantly.

Kili knitted his brows in confusion, wondering if this out-of-the-blue question was just part of his uncle’s diclofenac dopiness. Regaining himself and deciding to simply play along, he answered: “Er, _Overwatch_?”

“Okay,” Uncle Bilbo replied, with a knowing smile, and something twigged. His uncle was planning on buying him one of the latest Xbox One games… he’d been making sure he hung onto enough of his allowance this month so he was able to afford _Overwatch: Origins Edition_. He couldn’t help the rising giddiness in his stomach as he realised he could now use the money he’d saved to buy a new controller instead.

“Thanks, Uncle Bilbo, but you really don’t need to –”

“This matter isn’t up for discussion,” Uncle Bilbo said, cutting across him with mock seriousness.

Kili couldn’t help but grin. “Okay… thank you, though.”

Uncle Bilbo reached out and squeezed his shoulder, his own emphatic thank you evident in his warm green eyes. And then Uncle Thorin was steering them back towards the bedroom. Kili watched as his uncles disappeared inside, along with Sting and Dain, and then the door swung shut. After standing there for a few moments longer, he snapped himself out of it and went to go and switch the oven on so he could heat up Uncle Thorin’s lamb rogan josh.

 

…

 

Thorin carefully guided Bilbo to sit down on the edge of their bed and he sat there, expression dazed and dreamy, rendered quite compliant by his painkillers, waiting as Thorin went to go and draw the curtains. Sting and Dain had automatically curled up together in their own bed, obviously thinking everyone was turning in for the night.

Returning to Bilbo’s side, Thorin gently lifted his arm and removed his wristwatch. He placed it on the small table at Bilbo’s side of the bed, next to his growing pile of books. He undid the two large buttons on his cardigan and went to slip it from his shoulders. He was sure his boyfriend was going to grouse about being undressed, but he seemed too tired to care and let Thorin slowly pull the cardigan down his arms.

“You’re cross with me,” Bilbo whispered, looking into his lap, and he sounded so forlorn that it almost broke Thorin’s heart.

Thorin folded the cardigan on the bed and then turned to Bilbo, one hand tenderly reaching out to cup his cheek, lifting his face to his. “No,” he said softly. “I’m not cross… I understand why you didn’t want Kili to call me.”

Bilbo waited, obviously sensing Thorin had more to say as a thumb brushed his cheekbone.

“But if it happens again… Heather can drive me over in one of our cars, so you don’t have to worry about me,” Thorin explained, lowering himself onto his knees so he could start on Bilbo’s shirt. “I just hate the idea of not being here when you need me.”

Bilbo made a soft noise of resigned agreement as Thorin’s hands moved down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt, trying to ignore the return of an old ache. There had been a few wobbles since he’d taken the post in Harrogate. It was so much further away than the AFCO, and Thorin was still getting used to putting himself forty minutes away from Bilbo every day. He had never really been angry with Bilbo, more at a situation to which he was still adjusting, and besides, he knew it was so important that he take a step back and let Bilbo have his independence and his freedom – even if it meant days like today still happened.

Finishing the buttons on Bilbo’s shirt, he pulled it down his arms as he had the cardigan and folded it loosely on top. He rolled down each of Bilbo’s socks and then his hands went, almost tentatively, for his belt buckle.

“I’m very upset that this is all leading to sleep and not to sex,” Bilbo announced, sounding not-quite-with-it, and Thorin looked up from his, admittedly suggestive, position between his boyfriend’s knees to see him grinning dopily down at him.

“Maybe if you’re feeling better later tonight,” Thorin soothed him, sliding the belt free of his chinos and rubbing his knee in consolation. He popped the button and zipped down Bilbo’s fly, telling himself he most certainly did _not_ feel himself reacting to that sound like one of Pavlov’s bloody dogs. “Okay, we’ll do trousers and pants at the same time, just lift up for me.”

Bilbo complied without comment, inappropriate or otherwise, and let Thorin slide the chinos and his underwear over his bum and down his legs. Thorin slid them both over each foot and then added them to the pile of clothes. He shuffled to the side on his knees so he could retrieve Bilbo’s pyjamas from underneath the pillows.

“I’m cold,” Bilbo whined, hunching his body forward and folding his arms across his chest.

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, alright, I’m going as fast as I can… Now, arms up.”

Bilbo obediently raised his arms above his head so Thorin could fit them into the sleeves and then pull the pyjama top down over his head.

“I’m always the one that’s high,” Bilbo muttered, sounding a little more lucid again. “Why aren’t you ever the one that’s high?”

“I have been,” Thorin replied, kneeling down again and putting Bilbo’s feet through his pyjamas bottoms. “You kept offering me biscuits and then told me you were going to break me out of a secure psychiatric unit.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bilbo murmured, lifting himself off the bed without prompting so Thorin could pull the bottoms up over his bum. “You still hadn’t figured out that I fancied you.”

“No,” Thorin agreed, smiling at the memory that seemed so very long ago now. He kissed Bilbo’s curls and lifted him up again so he could pull back the bedcovers. “Into bed, Cassanova.”

“Ha,” Bilbo said softly, climbing into the bed and lying down on his side.

Thorin tucked the duvet in around him and then collected his clothes together, carrying the pile in his arms to the en-suite bathroom and depositing them into the laundry basket. Returning to the bedroom, he retrieved Bilbo's belt, rolled it up and stowed it away in the designated drawer. Bilbo was watching him as he came and sat back down on the edge of the bed. 

“Have you got anything scheduled for tomorrow?” Thorin asked, one hand coming to rest on Bilbo's shoulder. 

“Lecture at eleven,” Bilbo said, eyes fluttering closed as he pushed his face into the pillow. “Supervision session at four.”

“At least you can have a lie-in,” Thorin said softly. “Then we can see if you feel up to going to the lecture.”

Bilbo gave an affirmative hum, followed by a blunt: “You’re not taking the day off, Thorin.”

Thorin realised he shouldn’t have expected anything less than Bilbo’s usual telepathy, but still he sighed. “I don’t need to go in tomorrow.”

“You have three mentor meetings and an appraisal, you’re not taking the day off.”

Stupid, omniscient ex-military intelligence boyfriend! Thorin cursed internally. Again, he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. “Okay, but my first mentor meeting isn’t until ten, so I can leave later, miss the morning traffic.”

Bilbo gave a little grunt, begrudgingly indicating that this was acceptable. Thorin leaned down and kissed Bilbo’s shoulder, not straightening up immediately but nuzzling a little at him, glad they weren’t going to fight about this.

Bilbo was quiet for a long time and Thorin thought he must have fallen asleep, but then he whispered: “Kili did really well today.”

Thorin froze, his stomach tightening. How had he even managed to forget that Kili had been the one to find Bilbo? He had been so wrapped up in getting his boyfriend comfortable and settled that he’d failed to consider how his own nephew must be feeling. _Idiot_.

“Poor boy must have been scared shitless,” Bilbo said, eyes peeking open to look at Thorin. “But he rang Dr. Grey, put me in the recovery position, talked me round… He was very brave.”

Pride swelled in Thorin’s chest and he found himself smiling. “Just like his uncle, then,” he said softly, stroking a hand down Bilbo’s back.

“He needs to hear it from you too,” Bilbo said, exhaling slowly and closing his eyes again. “And he needs a hug.”

“Okay,” Thorin said gently, tucking the duvet back under Bilbo’s chin. “I’ll tell him.”

Bilbo gave another hum, continuing to breathe deeply. Thorin watched and listened as his breaths slowly grew softer and steadier as he surrendered himself to sleep. After waiting for another few moments, Thorin leaned down and kissed Bilbo’s curls with a whispered ‘I love you’ and then rose from the bed.

“Come on, Dain,” he murmured, looking to the Labrador and nodding towards the bedroom door.

Dain untangled his limbs from Sting’s and padded over to Thorin’s side. Sting also roused himself and went to lie on the floor next to the bed. Flicking off the light and slipping through the bedroom door, Thorin closed it shut as quietly as possible behind him. Turning, he found Kili standing in the middle of the open plan kitchen. The teenager shifted, a little awkwardly, on the spot, rubbing at one arm.

“I’ve, er, put your curry in the oven, just to warm it up a bit,” he explained. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted to drink so…”

Kili stopped when Thorin strode forward and pulled him into an almost-crushing hug. He froze up at first, but then wrapped his arms around his uncle and rested his forehead against his shoulder, relaxing for what Thorin suspected might have been the first time in hours.

“Thank you,” Thorin said, hoping Kili didn’t pick up on his voice catching. “Thank you for taking care of your Uncle Bilbo for me. I’m really glad you were here with him.”

“S’alright,” Kili mumbled, although his fingers tightened a little around Thorin’s uniform, suggesting that the events of the afternoon really had been quite gruelling.

“I’m so proud of you, mate,” he continued, voice unmistakably warm. “You did everything exactly right and we’re so glad you were here.”

“I’m glad I was too,” Kili said quietly, pulling away with a small smile.

Sensing Kili didn’t want him to labour the point, Thorin dropped his arms and looked towards the oven. “Do you want some?”

“I might have another samosa,” Kili said, moving towards the takeaway boxes piled on the worktop.

Thorin nodded. “And let’s get the tele on – we’ve missed kick-off, but we should still get about seventy minutes of Man U vs. Arsenal.”

“We’re not watching football,” Kili grinned, grabbing the oven gloves and opening the oven to retrieve Thorin’s curry.

Thorin cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

“I’m not letting you watch a match whilst Uncle Bilbo’s trying to sleep, you’ll be yelling at the ref and the linesmen within three minutes.”

Thorin rolled his eyes: he really wasn’t _that_ bad, but he still had to admit his nephew had a point. “Okay… so what do you want to watch instead?”

Kili went and put the warmed plates on the table whilst Thorin grabbed some cutlery. “ _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ boxset?”

Thorin smiled. “You’re on… and Kili?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m buying you _Final Fantasy XV_ and _Halo 5_.”

Kili grinned. “Cheers, Uncle Thorin.”

Thorin put a hand on his shoulder, returning his grin, and then the two of them set about getting settled for the evening whilst Bilbo slept on, safe and sound, in the next room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Announcement of Mini-Hiatus-
> 
> Hey guys, so yes I am putting 'Dust in the Road' on hiatus, but I’m definitely not talking about a Sherlock-style hiatus here. Basically, as you’ve all probably gathered by now, I work full-time as a secondary school teacher and as we’re now slowly entering exams season, my workload is just getting absolutely ridiculous. There’s no way I’m going to be able to juggle work with writing two fics and so I’ve made the decision to take a little step back from the Obstacles!verse and focus on my Star Wars AU, ‘and sow a star divided in us’. 
> 
> I’m hoping that, after writing in this ‘verse for three years, a short break might do me good and I’ll return fresh-faced and ready to write some more modern dorks healing and navigating obstacles. As ‘sow a star’ is going to be around six chapters long, I expect this hiatus will only last two or three months. You have my solemn promise that ‘Dust in the Road’ is in no way abandoned – I will return to this AU and I plan on bringing some Ori/Bifur backstory goodness back with me! Again, trust me when I say, as the woman who wrote that one fifty-seven chapter fic during her first two years of teaching, I am coming back, I just need some time right now. 
> 
> On a slightly related note: I’ve finally been added to the surgery waiting list – no exact date yet, but I’ll make sure I post any major updates as author’s notes on here and on ‘sow a star’. Thank you again to everyone for all your well wishes regarding my health: your support honestly has been so heartening and so appreciated! 
> 
> Okay, I am desperately trying to resist the urge to make a Terminator joke, but I’ll be back… Damn it… It is true though!
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this fluffy little update and I’ll see you all in a few months! :)


	8. Health Update + Easter Eggs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I’m just popping by to let you all know that I finally have a date for my surgery and I’ll edit this chapter with updates on how I’m getting on as soon as I’m able to. I have to admit, I am fair bricking it – I’ve never even had a filling before and this is my first time going under general anaesthetic… although, to be honest, I think I’m more worried about the amount of crap I’m going to be talking about gay dwarves whilst I’m high on the good kind of drugs ;) 
> 
> Now, I feel quite guilty that I don’t have a new chapter for you guys – especially when you’ve been so kind with all your thoughtful words and well-wishes – so as a little thank you from me, I thought I’d share with you a bit of an info dump of Obstacles!verse Easter eggs, alternate/abandoned scenes, and random trivia to tide you over until I’m able to update properly again.

'A Remover of Obstacles' was originally titled 'All These Things That I've Done' after the song by The Killers. (I got soul, but I'm not a soldier...) 

 

My fancast for Fili is definitely Juno Temple and the link below is, in my opinion, the quintessential Obstacles!verse Fili. <http://cardiffstudentmedia.co.uk/quench/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2013/03/Juno-Temple-11.jpg>

  
My fancast for Dis is the beautiful Lara Pulver.

  
I followed the same naming pattern for the vast majority of my OCs: floral first name, hobbit last name. (Heather Fairbarn, Poppy Hayward, Rowan, Lillie, Ash, Briony, Mr. Proudfoot, Reverend Puddifoot, Jasmine Tunnelly…)

  
Graham’s service dog, Florence, is named after Florence Nightingale. Bilbo’s dog, Sting, is of course named after his Elvish blade, but in the Obstacles!verse, his trainer named him after the musician… because he’s a Golden Retriever and Sting sang that one song, ‘Fields of Gold’? Geddit? I know, proper Dad humour there! The other service dogs are all named after the ponies in ‘An  Unexpected Journey’.

  
In my original notes for ‘Obstacles’, waayyyy back in June, 2014, Fili was supposed to come out to Thorin as bisexual in the first chapter. However, as I was still coming to terms with my own bisexuality after years of repression/guilt, and I was yet to come out to my dad, I decided to drop the idea from the fic. During the course of writing the story, and writing the scenes with Thorin coming out to Dwalin and Balin, I did finally have a chat with my dad and in very Dwalin-esque fashion, he told me he’d known since 2011 and that he loved me… and did I think Scarlet Johansson was fit? Having finally had that conversation with my dad, I was ready to write Fili’s own coming out scene with Thorin in ‘Dust in the Road’.

  
In an earlier draft of Chapters 32-36, Kili was going to be told about Bilbo’s suicide attempt. However, after speaking to my mum on the phone and asking her what she would do in Dis’ position, she explained she would be worried that Kili might resent Bilbo for his actions and struggle to process what they meant for Thorin, so she would wait until he was older and until his uncles were in a more stable position to talk to him about it.

  
I come from a family of avid Bradford City supporters and they have a pretty intense rivalry with Leeds United… but because of the story’s setting, it made much more sense to have Thorin and Kili be Leeds fans. I’m hoping my dad, my uncles, and my grandpa never find out I wrote ‘scum supporters’ into my magnum opus.

  
I moved a few things around and a few things along so that Bilbo would be thirty-two years old in Chapter 32, hoping he would never reach his thirty-third birthday and therefore Chapter 33.

  
In Chapter 3, Thorin refers to the death of his hero, Freddie Mercury, as ‘there would be no other end of the world’ – this is taken from a poem by Czeslaw Milosz which serves as the epigraph for Chapter 32 where Bilbo attempts to take his own life.

  
In Chapter 32, I changed Fili’s original “See you later, Uncle” to “See you soon, Uncle” as I knew it would sound more harrowing when readers figured out that she would actually be seeing Thorin only a few hours later when he turned up at her school after being told about Bilbo’s attempt.

  
Rosie finds a vase for Bilbo’s flowers in acute care, which is where Bilbo is admitted only 48 hours later.

  
My OC Graham and his story arc were originally very much part of a crack!timeline because I was once again going through a ‘Sherlock’ phase. I played around with ideas of Graham actually being interested in Thorin and making their growing friendship outside the hospital much more intense, but in the end I’m glad I didn’t put Thorin and Bilbo through that… and to this day I am still surprised by how well my accidental crack!OC has been received.

  
Smaug was in one of the earlier drafts of the story as a psychopathic inpatient and former military intelligence officer. He served as an antagonist to Bilbo and definitely got into a scrap with Thorin in the dayroom for intimating he knew about what happened with Hamfast. However, in the end, Bilbo and Thorin had enough mental demons to be battling with without having an actual, real-life demon in their midst and Smaug was written out of the story.

  
For Thorin’s fortieth birthday, Bilbo wrote to Brian May and Roger Taylor of Queen and received autographs, a personal letter, and two tickets to their next concert.

  
For Bilbo’s fortieth birthday, he returned to Birmingham with Thorin, Dwalin, and Fili and her entourage. After meticulous planning, they managed to sort out an evening in the city’s Gay Village. Their night ends in The Nightingale where the DJ plays a special set-list from the early 2000s and Thorin discovers just how much of an amazing dancer Bilbo is. Fili and her friends spend two hours beating hordes of men away from Bilbo on the dancefloor until they finally convince Thorin to join them.

  
A scene I never got to include was Thorin coming to see Fili volunteering at the Oriental Museum. He watches her talking to a group of school children about Ancient Egyptian mummification and she looks to her uncle as she explains that the Ancient Egyptians valued the heart far more than the brain. She also gives him a scarab beetle talisman, an ancient symbol of protection. Because, obviously, what the Obstacles!verse needs more of is symbolism ;)

  
Before I posted Chapter 1 of ‘A Remover of Obstacles’ to AO3, I already had a basic plot outline that consisted of Thorin’s recovery, Thorin’s discharge, Bilbo’s suicide attempt, Bilbo’s recovery, Bilbo’s discharge. However, as I was a total newbie to the site I was genuinely terrified of what people would think of my writing, that no one would be interested, and so I labelled the story as a ‘one-shot’ in my author’s note basically as a sort of defence mechanism against rejection. I can’t even begin to explain how happy I am that this story has ended up being so well-received.

  
However, if I’m being brutally honest – and I have mentioned this briefly before – Chapters 2, 3 and 4 were originally not very well-reviewed and I began to lose heart and doubt myself. I had just started my first year of teaching and my time was so limited that I made a pact that if Chapter 5 didn’t get any interest I would abandon the fic… and then I got so many ridiculously lovely comments that persuaded me to continue. Feedback is so, so important you guys, and again, thank you all for giving me reasons to keep writing when I was so ready to give up!

  
I once legitimately confused my Thorin’s life with my dad’s! He was talking about Wembley ’86 and I was like: ‘But you weren’t old enough to be there?’… before realising my mistake. I’m sure Freud would have a field day with that one.

  
Fili’s infamous tattoo that she got from a dodgy basement studio when she was fifteen is a black-inked heart on her left bum cheek. Dis now refers to it affectionately as her daughter’s ‘arse heart’, but you can bet she raised hell and got that place shut down when she first found out.

  
Although Haldir’s last name, March, is taken from his role as marchwarden of Lorien, it’s also a fond nod to Dr. Zosia March, one of my favourite characters in hospital drama, Holby City.

  
In the original draft of Chapter 7, Bilbo was going to take Thorin up to the hospital’s roof where take-out coffee would be waiting for them… but the setting of Esgaroth Coffee House felt a little more romantic/domestic and, well, Bilbo needed a reason to get hold of those scissors and there would be no need to cut off their hospital bracelets if they were just sneaking up to the roof and not a public place. *runs away as mob starts forming again*

  
As part of Thorin’s recovery arc, he was going to go on a trip to the Lake District with Dis, Fili and Kili to stay at a B&B owned by Bard’s family… but as the story developed, I realised there was no way he would cope with leaving Bilbo behind for a few days.

  
Thorin and Bilbo’s first kiss was meant to be in a store-room, but when the significance of store-rooms became apparent in Chapter 8, I realised the negative light it might cast on this tender moment and how unlikely it was that Bilbo would be able to sneak them into a store-room without anyone raising the alarm.

  
Ori’s “I still have a voice!” moment was inspired by ‘The King’s Speech’.

  
Bilbo’s suicide attempt occurs about half-way through the story and it was always intended to be a mirror-line to mark his and Thorin’s reversal of roles.

  
Dain’s inclusion in the story was quite a late addition and I hadn’t even considered it until my best friend sent me a video about service dogs for sufferers of PTSD.

  
In Chapter 7, Bilbo mentions that he stole the grey beanie hat from Dr. Burrows. Dr. Burrows makes his first appearance in Rosie’s chapter of ‘Dust in the Road’.

  
The comment Bilbo made to Rosie when he lashed out at her in Chapter 21 was about her failure to get into med school.

  
I never managed to include Gloin, Oin and Gimli in ‘Obstacles’, but rest assured they do exist in this ‘verse as fairly distant cousins and they’re on the guest list for Thorin and Bilbo’s wedding.

  
The surgical scissors which Bilbo stole were hidden for months inside his copy of Virginia Woolf’s ‘Mrs Dalloway’, which was pushed right to the back of one of his low bookshelves. He hid the scissors between the pages in which Septimus Smith, a shell-shocked veteran, successfully commits suicide. Bilbo saw it almost as a good luck charm: that his attempt, like Smith’s, would also be successful. *can I please remind the mob that they are limited to one torch and one pitchfork each*.

  
I totally crack!ship Fili/Heather… but like to the point where all it would take is a few nudges from readers and I’ll just end up having them marrying each other.

  
James from Faramir’s support group is named after Major James Sholto in ‘Sherlock’. Again, I was going through a phase with my secondary fandom.

  
James and Linda’s cat, Sabbath, also appeared in my first ever fic series – a set of Remus/Sirius stories I posted over on HPANA before the site went down.

  
Iris Brown, to whom a bench outside Ered Luin is dedicated, is Radagast’s wife.

  
Reverend Puddifoot is literally just Geraldine Granger, the Vicar of Dibley, transported into the Obstacles!verse. Sorry not sorry!

  
In Chapter 5 of ‘Dust in the Road’, it’s mentioned that Thorin and Bilbo speak to an elderly Frenchman who fought with the Resistance during the Second World War – this is actually my auntie’s father who did indeed metaphorically punch some Nazis in the face during the war.

  
Now, I’m afraid I'm having a bit of a J. K. Rowling moment here when I reveal that in the Obstacles!verse, Dr. Grey is gay. He’s always been gay, this wasn’t something that was decided afterwards, but the fact just never seemed to find its way into the story – I suppose because Dr. Grey is such an enigmatic figure and his personal life has never been at the forefront of the fic. However, I feel I'm doing him a disservice by only mentioning this almost a year after the original story was finished – maybe I should go back and add at least one casual mention in somewhere? I’m really not sure. Another bit of info that never found the right time to surface is that Bilbo and Dr. Grey vaguely knew each other before Bilbo was invalided back from Iraq. Dr. Grey and Belladonna Took did some charity/activism work together in the 80s, although Bilbo only ever met Dr. Grey once as a child. Dr. Grey’s past acquaintance with Belladonna played a part in Bilbo being admitted to Ered Luin and not a different facility down south.

  
Thorin and Bilbo’s song for their first dance at their wedding is ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love with You’ covered by Haley Reinhart, the same song Thorin used for his proposal video. 

 

 **HEALTH UPDATE:** Hey guys, I just wanted to let you know my surgery yesterday was successful and there were no complications. I also didn't embarrass myself by rambling on about dwarves whilst high on painkillers, although I did talk about Lord of the Rings with my anaesthetics team before they put me under! Now I'm back in Yorkshire with my parents, very sore and still quite sleepy, but happy that the worst part is over. I've acquired a few new scars, but if there's anything that writing for the Obstacles!verse has taught me, it's that my scars are beautiful ;) I can't thank all of you enough for all your support this year and for thinking of me yesterday - it really does mean the absolute world to me! Now I have two weeks of taking it easy, lots of sleeping and daytime TV and reading - so if anyone has any fic recs (self-recs also encouraged!) I finally have the time to sit and read so please do let me know. I'm also hoping to start some tentative work on a Fili chapter of 'Dust in the Road' next week. Thanks again for all your luck and wishes, and I'll try and get some proper updates to you all ASAP!  <3 <3 <3 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all found at least one interesting little snippet amongst all this rambling and thank you again for all your kind words regarding my health this year, your support really does mean the absolute world to me <3


	9. January, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Well, it’s certainly been a while, but I’m very glad to be back. I had intended to post this chapter much earlier, but unfortunately Fili has proven to be an incredibly stubborn muse. I have, however, managed to wrestle this three-part chapter from her so that it works much in the same way as Rosie’s, covering three years from Fili’s life. 
> 
> This chapter is for Chris, Fili’s biggest fan, but I hope you all enjoy this little glimpse into Fili’s world. 
> 
> To help set the scene, here is my ‘I Wish I Was as Cool as Fili Playlist’ that I listened to constantly whilst drafting and writing this chapter:
> 
> \+ Ride This Out - Imaginary Cities  
> \+ Especially You – Low  
> \+ Long Way Down – Tom Odell  
> \+ At Night - The Eagle Rock Gospel Singers  
> \+ Blessing and a Curse - Have Gun, Will Travel  
> \+ Wait So Long - Trampled by Turtles  
> \+ Edge of Seventeen - Stevie Nicks  
> \+ Growing Up - Run River North  
> \+ Home - Gabrielle Aplin  
> \+ Lions! - Lights  
> \+ Ocean Eyes - Billie Eilish  
> \+ Too Dry to Cry – Willis Earl Beal

**_January, 2012_ **

 

The chair’s fraying fabric was scratchy against the backs of Fili’s legs and she could feel it itching her skin through her thin, black tights. She shifted again, leaning to one side, trying to get comfortable… but then again, she guessed this was probably the point: when you were sitting outside your Head of Year’s office, waiting for your punishment to be doled out, you weren’t supposed to be comfortable.

Mr. Shagrat had caught her and Kat smoking in the Sixth Form toilets when they were supposed to be out on the playing field with the rest of the Year 10 girls for Core P.E.. As was to be expected from mid-January, it was bloody freezing outside and the field was nothing but slippy mud and icy water. Kat had caught up with her in the corridor as she made her way to the changing rooms and grabbed her arm, told her she knew the code for the Sixth Form toilets – she had friends in Year 12 who’d passed it on, but that wasn’t surprising. Kat was friends with everyone. Unlike Fili.

They’d waited until the corridors had quietened before slipping into the toilets, unable to stop themselves giggling as they slammed the door shut behind them. Fili had never skived before and her stomach felt all bubbly and strange as she joined Kat by the mirrors, watching her recently-acquired friend fix her hair and make weird shapes with her mouth as she reapplied her mascara and eye-liner. She’d then pushed her make-up bag towards Fili, who pretended she knew exactly what she was doing as she selected what she hoped was an acceptable mascara and tried to coat her lashes without stabbing herself in the eye. She tried not to notice the faces Kat was making behind her, seeing her smirk in the mirrors, something hard tightening inside her chest as she sensed she was being mocked… or pitied.

The cigarettes had been unexpected. Fili had smoked before, of course, at the house parties Kat had taken her to – parties she would have never been allowed near if she hadn’t had the prettiest girl in their year holding her hand and dragging her inside. Kat pushed open one of the small windows: the toilets, for all their prestige and exclusivity, were almost subterranean and let in very little natural light. She then produced a battered packet of Mayfair and a plastic lighter from her school bag and lit up like it was nothing, like what they were doing wasn’t going to get them in so much trouble. Standing by the sink, watching Kat lazily blow smoke out her nostrils, reaching up onto her toes to let the grey fumes float out the window, Fili felt as if she had stumbled into a black-and-white film… albeit a fairly shitty, low-budget one. Everything Kat did was so effortlessly cool, so full of a beautiful, artful apathy… and God didn’t Fili wish they could trade places, if only for a moment.

Kat held the packet out and Fili could see the glint in her dark eyes: she knew this was a challenge, that her life could become even more miserable if she didn’t pass the test. The first time she’d smoked a cigarette, she had coughed a lot, feeling like she’d actually swallowed the bloody thing and everyone had laughed. She still hadn’t really got the hang of it, but Kat was waiting, hand outstretched, a slight curve in her lips like she was expecting Fili to confirm all of her suspicions. There was a burning, uncomfortable feeling in her stomach, a sense of dread and foreboding… This whole thing literally looked like a scene from one of those ridiculously dated videos about peer pressure that they played in assemblies and tutor time, but Fili made the decision not to put a target on her back. Kat had a habit of ruining the lives of people no longer worthy of her friendship and God knows Fili’s life was fucked up enough without the added pressure of a social vendetta.

But then, about half an hour into Period 3, Mr. Shagrat had been crossing the quad and saw the smoke seeping out of the window. Kat had yelled at him for being a ‘fucking perv’ when he burst into the toilets, but Fili was silent, desperately stamping out her cigarette and feeling like she was going to throw up. Mr. Shagrat had dumped her outside Mr. Proudfoot’s office whilst Kat was hauled off to the assistant head’s, still screaming at the Geography teacher and using words Fili didn’t even understand.

And now she found herself sitting on the world’s most uncomfortable chair, trying to wriggle away from its faded blue, prickling cover, feeling the tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She knew Mr. Proudfoot had called her mum, that she was probably going to get excluded, and that, in trying to make everything just a little less fucked up, she had succeeded in screwing herself over even more. Dis was going to be beyond pissed off and Fili knew she wasn’t going to listen to a word she had to say in her defence. She didn’t want to hear it anymore, not after last month when Fili had stumbled in after midnight and thrown up in the plant pot in the hallway whilst Kili watched from the top of stairs, clinging to the banister in horror. Nowadays her and Dis could barely speak to each other without arguing.

Unable to sit still, Fili twisted her legs to the side and began to pick at the dark purple polish on her nails. She tried to focus her mind on peeling away the shiny, chipped polish, but still the ache came, twisting inside her stomach with an almost comforting familiarity. She missed her dad. And wasn’t that an understatement when missing someone, even after eight years, was physically painful. They’d taken her to a shrink when it first happened and she stopped speaking for a while. But then she kept hearing Dis crying at night and words became a necessity for survival, to help her mum fall asleep at night and to get her up in a morning. Even though life eventually began again, Fili was always aware that she was a consolation prize, that she wasn’t really the person Dis wanted and never would be. Things got even worse when her gran and grandpa died and Uncle Thorin left for Germany. Their family circle was slowly shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller as the branches of their family tree faded and withered away until Fili began to develop a genuine fear that she would be the next one to go.

Of course, she had already decided that if she was the next to go, it would be her choice and on her terms. She had a rucksack packed ready beneath her bed and she knew the train timetable to Edinburgh off by heart. She hadn’t seen her mum’s Scottish cousins, Balin and Dwalin for a year or so, but she hoped one of them would take her in: maybe she could clean the shelves and equipment in Dwalin’s tattoo studio to earn her keep and she could ask Balin if there was any way to enrol her in a Scottish school so she could take Standard Grades instead of GCSEs.

Her other option, which she was still mulling over, was waiting things out until she at least scraped through her exams and then going to Berlin instead. Perhaps Uncle Thorin would let her look after his apartment there whilst he was in Afghanistan. They had barely spoken the last time her stoic, stony-faced uncle had visited and Fili had to admit she had been a little scared of him… He clearly had no idea what to say to her, but at that moment she felt that would suit her just fine. In the noisy, unending chaos of her life right now – her mum’s screeching and slamming doors and Kat’s relentless demands – she could use some quiet. Thinking back to the last gathering of their terminally shrinking family, Fili remembered the relief of sitting next to Uncle Thorin on the sofa. They had both looked at each other a bit awkwardly, but then they had settled into a strange sense of calmness and comfort. She had been so thankful that he didn’t ask her about school or boys or what she wanted to be when she grew up. Her life would be so much better if she was spared from questions and expectations and she thought maybe Uncle Thorin could save her from that.

The door to Mr. Proudfoot’s office suddenly swung open and Fili jumped. The P.E. teacher, dressed in his usual shorts despite the sub-zero temperatures outside, didn’t even look at her as he stuck his head into the secretaries’ office next door to deliver a message. Fili supposed she should feel shame, embarrassment, regret… just something as Mr. Proudfoot disappeared back into his office and shut the door. But instead she just felt numb as she wrapped her arms around her stomach. But she hadn’t expected anything less. She couldn’t pinpoint the moment the numbness had set it, but she guessed it was probably around last summer, and then she had ended up sitting next to Kat when they started having History together in September and Fili figured, if anyone was going to help her feel something, it was probably Kat Watkins. All it had taken was a few off-hand jokes (“Oh my God, you’re like actually really funny, I always thought you were such a swot”) and offering to let Kat copy a few of her answers and she was sure she’d found her way out of the numbness.

If anything underscored just how wrong she’d been, it was probably Jack Marsden’s Christmas party. Kat had been telling Fili for weeks that Jack’s best friend, Lee, fancied her. She didn’t really believe it, she figured Lee was just after Kat because everyone was. Kat kept asking her if she thought Lee was fit and Fili always replied that she wasn’t sure. The girls in their friendship group just figured Fili was being coy, wanting to play hard to get, when in reality, she honestly wasn’t sure what she thought about Lee, how you could tell if you thought someone was hot and she was too embarrassed to ask anyone how you knew if you were attracted to a person.

Regardless of Fili’s feelings, Lee made his quite clear when he took her hand and led her upstairs to an empty bedroom. The kissing had been wet and uncomfortable. Fili was sure Lee’s tongue had been out of his mouth before their lips even met and the whole time they were snogging, she couldn’t help but picture a bucket of wriggling squid. But maybe she was just a bad kisser, she prayed that Lee wouldn’t tell Kat.

Lee had breathed the question into her ear before he’d put his hand between her legs. Fili had hoped this experience would be better than the kissing, but it wasn’t. She’d lain there on the unmade bed with her too-tight dress bunched around her hips, feeling every hasty movement of Lee’s fingers, but then not feeling any more than that. She waited and waited as Lee grunted, shifting on top of her, but nothing happened. She was glad they hadn’t turned the light on in the room so he couldn’t see her crying. She wondered vaguely if it would feel better if Kat was the one touching her, if kissing Kat would make her feel something. The thrusts suddenly became quicker, more frenzied and Fili opened her thighs wider to allow Lee to move his hand the way he clearly wanted to and then finally he had given her neck a few sloppy kisses and grumbled: “You gonna come then or what?”

Fili barely knew what he was asking, but still she drew on her very limited knowledge from her mum’s _Sex and the City_ boxset and arched her body into him, trying to moan and gasp in a way that she hoped he would find convincing. Seeming placated and quite pleased with himself, Lee sped up his pace so that it almost hurt. Fili felt ridiculous saying his name interspersed with breathy ‘yeahs’, but she figured the sooner she pretended to come, the sooner it would all be over. Deciding to give a higher-pitched cry to signal her phantom orgasm, Lee’s fingers had barely left her when the door was suddenly thrown open by an irate Kat who had just found Jack making out with Susie Parker in the garden shed.

Fili’s heart had been in her throat as she pulled her underwear back up and her dress back down. Kat’s hysterical shrieks of “God, Fili, I need you _not_ to be a slag right now!” stung, but were tempered by her relief that she hadn’t been left alone with Lee long enough for him to expect her to do anything in return. Kat had pushed Lee off when he tried to convince her to stay and grabbed her hand, dragging her from the room and back down the stairs so she could watch her slap Jack in front of all his guests. And Fili had stood there in the garden, the cold making her bare arms pimple, with mascara blotting her wet cheeks and an empty, unwanted dampness between her legs, realising with an almost out-of-body clarity that this was her life now, and she was left alone with nothing but the looming, never-ending numbness.

Kat was supposed to be taking her to get a tattoo next month. Her brother knew a place in Leeds that would ink girls under eighteen, no questions asked, so Kat had convinced her to go. Fili knew it was all about reputation, about image, but she couldn’t help but fixate on something Kat had said ages ago, that getting a tattoo was better than sex, and so she’d wondered that maybe, just maybe, when the needle was against her skin, that she might finally be able to feel something again.

Fili looked up at the sound of heels in the corridor, but it was only her Biology teacher, Miss Hogg, who was coming to use the photocopier outside the offices. She offered a surprised smile and then turned away as she fired up the ancient machine. Miss Hogg had made them watch an episode of _Blue Planet_ yesterday, because she was twenty-three and clearly hungover, but one image had resonated with Fili and it came back to her now, feeling like the perfect symbol to epitomise the whole shitty situation.

Biologists in a deep-sea submarine had discovered the enormous skeleton of a humpback whale on the sea floor. In the watery gloom, it appeared like a submerged ruin, its empty ribcage arching up like the entranceway to a monastery or a church. Its huge bones were covered in yellowing moss: hardly a fitting shroud for what must have once been a very beautiful creature. There it was, most of its time consumed by darkness, abandoned and alone at the bottom of the ocean so that no one else even knew it was there. Fili knew what her teachers were whispering about her to each other, about her ‘spiralling’, about her ‘going off the rails’, but really the movement didn’t feel quite so frantic. It was more like sinking. It scared her that no one knew how long it took the whale to reach the seabed after it died and here she was, still falling, having no idea how long it would take her to sink right to the bottom, how long it would be before she just stopped falling.

Miss Hogg smiled again as she collected her photocopying, obviously weighing up starting a conversation about why she was outside Head of Year’s, but something in Fili’s gaze told her not to so off she went clacking back down the corridor. It was then that Mr. Proudfoot appeared, his expression solemn as he finally met Fili’s eye.

“Your mum’s just arrived Fili, she’ll be through reception in a minute.”

Fili swallowed, lowering her head as her stomach knotted itself. This wasn’t going to be pretty. She knew Mr. Proudfoot was watching her and she straightened up, the chair scratching against her legs again.

“Sir…”

The teacher waited, one eyebrow slightly raised, but the words wouldn’t come. Fili wasn’t sure what to say. She wanted to tell him about whale skeletons and Lee’s kisses on her neck and slamming doors and the numbness, but she knew she’d never be able to get him to understand, that most of it was things you shouldn’t really talk to teachers about anyway.

The click of heels on the wooden floor sounded again, but Fili knew it wasn’t Miss Hogg this time. It took her a beat, but then she looked up and forced herself to face her mother’s expression of cold fury, her eyes dark with anger and her lips set in an impossibly thin line. At that moment she wasn’t Mum, she was Ms. Oakenshield, Head of Humanities at Blue Mountains School, and she was livid.

“Ms. Oakenshield, thanks for coming in,” Mr. Proudfoot said, offering his hand.

Dis shook it, turning away from Fili, and she saw the slightest flicker in her Head of Year’s gaze. Not that it surprised her that her teacher, despite being a semi-professional rugby player, was shit-scared of her mum. God knows everyone was. Mr. Proudfoot gestured into his office and Fili shuffled in after them, sinking down into the slightly more comfortable chair at the other side of the desk. She hunched her shoulders, not looking at anything.

“So,” Mr. Proudfoot said, sitting down opposite them and resting his hands on the desk in front of him. “As you know from our conversation on the phone, Ms. Oakenshield, Fili was found smoking in the Sixth Form toilets by a member of staff when she should have been in lessons.”

Fili felt Dis stiffen and her expression hardened even further. She just wanted this to be over, for her mum to shout at her and get it all out of her system so they could go back to not speaking to each other for days. She wrapped her arms around herself again and dared to look over at Mr. Proudfoot.

“Mr. Shagrat has also explained that the girls used quite foul language towards him when they were caught.”

Fili suddenly sat up very straight. “I didn’t!”

Mr. Proudfoot’s expression barely changed. “Fili…”

“I didn’t, sir!” Fili said, her voice rising as the anger stirred inside her chest. “Kat was swearing at him and calling him a ‘perv’ or whatever, but I didn’t say anything!”

“That’s not what Mr. Shagrat has told me,” Mr. Proudfoot said carefully. “He made it clear that both you and Kat were verbally abusive towards him whilst he escorted you here.”

“Then he’s lying!” Fili cried, turning to Dis with wide eyes. “Mum, I didn’t –”

“Enough, Fili,” Dis said sharply, cutting across her. “You were truanting and smoking in the toilets, I hardly think whether or not you swore at your teacher matters now.”

Fili felt the tears prickling at her eyes again, her next protest dying in her throat. She knew Dis didn’t believe her and neither did Mr. Proudfoot. No one was going to be on her side this time. She looked away, thoughts turning to the rucksack beneath her bed.

“What sanctions have you decided on?” Dis asked, clearly wanting this conversation to be a blunt and short one.

“We’re looking at a two-day external exclusion,” Mr. Proudfoot replied, almost sighing. “We can organise a return-to-school meeting for yourself and Fili once the two days are up.”

Fili closed her eyes, feeling them burn behind her lids. Everyone would know when she didn’t turn up to form tomorrow what had happened, that Fili Oakenshield had actually gone and got herself excluded. All her teachers would know too, she’d seen the little ‘E’ symbol that appeared on the registers, and had never imagined that the mark would one day belong to her.

“I would like work for Fili to complete during her exclusion period,” Dis said, sounding unnervingly robotic. “And I would also like the work from the lessons she’s missed today.”

“Period 3 was Core P.E.,” Mr. Proudfoot explained quietly. “But I’ll have the work from Period 4 and for the next two days emailed to you by this evening.”

“Thank you, Mr. Proudfoot,” came the reply, and Dis shifted in her seat, clearly preparing to leave, but then the teacher coughed, indicating he had more to say.

“I can’t let you on the fencing tour, Fili.”

Fili’s head snapped up as her heart began thudding inside her chest. “What?! No…! Sir, please…”

Her friends, as was to be expected, made fun of her place on the school’s fencing team, but it had been one thing she hadn’t given up when her and Kat started hanging out. Fencing made her happy, gave her some simple validation, and now it looked like that was going to be taken from her too.

“You know the rules, Fili,” Mr. Proudfoot said, his expression sad but resolute. “I can’t take you on the tour if you’ve had an exclusion this term.”

“But… But I’ve been training for this since September, you need me there!”

Mr. Proudfoot didn’t reply and Fili felt anger once again stirring, hot and prickling, inside her chest. She looked to Dis, but her mum only pursed her lips, clearly agreeing with Mr. Proudfoot’s decision… and probably taking some satisfaction from it as well.

“ _Fuck’s sake_ ,” Fili said under her breath, her face growing hot as she looked away.

“Fili!” Dis’ voice was hard as flint and daring to peek across Fili saw that her face was almost completely white.

“Whatever,” Fili muttered, blinking back tears as Dis got to her feet.

“Thank you, Mr. Proudfoot,” she said, extending her hand. “And can I just apologise again for my daughter’s behaviour.”

Fili glared at her mother, knowing full well she was intending to humiliate her. She watched as Dis and Mr. Proudfoot shook hands again, feeling slightly nauseous, and then she had no choice but to follow Dis out of the office and towards reception.

Dis didn’t even look at her as they walked into the carpark. Fili thought about sitting in the backseat, before resigning herself to their impending argument that was going to happen wherever she sat in the car. She glanced across at Dis as they pulled out onto the main road and saw that she was gripping the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles looked all white and bony.

“Aren’t you going to say anything then?” Fili said, curled into the passenger seat door, aware that she was purposefully provoking an argument but also knowing that it was going to happen anyway… it might as well happen now.

“What would you like me to say, Fili?” Dis asked, her voice like ice as she kept her eyes on the road.

Fili opened her mouth to offer a fairly weak but waspish retort, but Dis got there first.

“Would you like me to point out just how _embarrassing_ that meeting was for me? Or how _embarrassing_ it was being pulled out of my lesson because my daughter’s Head of Year was on the phone? I’ve had to leave my Year 11 classes who have their mocks next week so I could come and pick you up.”

Fili made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “Sorry for being such an inconvenience,” she muttered, looking out the window.

“Selfish! That’s what you’re being!” Dis all but hissed, and Fili knew she wasn’t just talking about smoking in the toilets. “But here we are, you have my attention, Fili, so what is it that you want?”

“I’m not attention-seeking!” Fili snapped, pulling her seatbelt away from her neck as she turned to glower at her mother.

“Then what on earth has gotten into you this year?” Dis demanded, making a sharp turn that had Fili’s hand shooting out to the car door. “I honestly can’t believe you were caught _smoking_ … Tell me, if Kat Watkins jumped off a cliff, would you follow her?”

“Don’t talk about Kat like that,” Fili said, gritting her teeth as she bristled. “You don’t know anything about her.”

“I know enough,” came Dis’ reply. “I know she’s the reason you’re acting like this.”

Fili rolled her eyes, knowing it was mainly for show as her stomach tightened. “God, yeah, because you were definitely ‘Daughter of the Year’… I mean at least I haven’t got knocked up yet!”

It was a low-blow, Fili knew that, but this was what her and Dis did, had been doing for months: trying to score points. Fili knew what would really push her mother’s buttons, just as Dis knew what would upset her. It didn’t quite have the intended impact though as her mum flexed her fingers around the steering wheel and let out a breath.

“I wish you would just talk to me, Fili, instead of trying to pick a fight with me, every single time something’s going on,” she said, tone unnervingly calm and quiet.

“Why would I talk to you? You never listen,” Fili said, avoiding Dis’ gaze and curling further into the car door.

Dis’ blue gaze finally flitted over to her. “Okay, Fili, I’m listening… Tell me…”

Fili’s stomach tightened as she thought of whale skeletons and Lee’s kisses on her neck and slamming doors and the numbness, wondering if this time her mum might actually try to understand, but then –

“Tell me why you thought skiving P.E. and smoking in the girls’ toilets was a good idea.”

“Oh my God!” Fili actually found herself throwing her hands up in frustration: she just needed to move to direct the burning anger away from her chest, try and shake it from her, but it didn’t work. Instead the simmering rage started as she shot daggers across at her mother.

“Well, are you going to tell me…?” Dis asked, and Fili hated the hint of satisfaction, of victory, she heard in her voice.

They pulled into their road and Fili said nothing, only looked away out of the window, her face growing hot again with the threatening sting of tears building behind her eyes. The car came to a stop in the driveway, but Dis didn’t move, and the engine kept humming. Fili cast a questioning glance across at her mother as she straightened up.

“You have your key,” Dis whispered, eyes fixed on their front door and not her daughter.

So she wasn’t even going to follow her into the house. Even though Fili knew they’d only end up arguing again, this revelation hurt in a way she couldn’t explain.

“I have a meeting with the SENCo at Kili’s school this afternoon, so we won’t be back until five,” she said quietly.

Fili opened her mouth to reply, but didn’t quite manage it. She knew her mum had been fighting for a dyslexia diagnosis for Kili for months, but it seemed she might finally be making headway with the school, that her brother might finally be getting the support he needed in lessons. Fili knew it was guilt that had hold of her stomach now, but this only served to strengthen her belief that Kili would be better off, would be happier, if she left.

Dis spoke again just as Fili opened the car door: “I want you to stay in the house and I better not find cigarette butts in the flowerbeds when I get back.”

The anger was a white hot flash behind Fili’s eyes and before she could stop herself, she was swinging a lower blow than she’d ever before dared in any of their arguments: “For God’s sake! You know, maybe this is why Uncle Thorin stays away!”

Fili slammed the car door and with a mashing of keys, banged her way into the house. She slammed the front door as well for good measure and she was crying before she collapsed in the hallway, folding into herself at the bottom of the stairs. Their car sat in the driveway for a long time before it pulled away.

 

…

 

**_September, 2014_ **

 

Fili pushed the silver button on the lift’s panel and stepped away, pressing herself into the corner, wishing she wasn’t suddenly surrounded by mirrors. She was alone in the journey upwards and therefore confronted with the vastness of the space before her. It was stupid really, but up until two days ago, she hadn’t realised hospital lifts were so large because beds had to be moved from floor to floor. But then she had found herself holding her unconscious uncle’s hand as Dr. Grey and Radagast brought him up from A&E and back onto the ward.

The lift shuddered a little as it approached its destination and Fili flexed her fingers around the straps of her rucksack, telling herself just to breathe as the memories resurfaced.

_“Fili, of course, makes an excellent point… but don’t we need to consider that what we’re talking about is essentially pest control?”_

_Fili rolled her eyes at Henry’s smarmy tone as he put on his ridiculous ‘debate’ voice. She saw him smirking over at her as she raised her hand, ready to verbally rip the shit out of him with her response._

_“Sorry, Fili, but we need to move on to another issue,” Miss Hogg said, looking genuinely contrite as she dipped her hand into the glass beaker labelled ‘Current Events Jar’._

_Fili dared to sneak a glance across the science lab and Henry blew a kiss in her direction. She mouthed ‘bite me’ and turned away as he sniggered._

_“Okay…” Miss Hogg opened up the slip of paper she’d plucked from the jar. “We have ‘Global Warming and Climate Change’… Who’d like to weigh in?”_

_Fili’s hand shot into the air just before Henry’s did and they were both clearly gearing up for ‘Round Two’. But then there was a knock at the door and Mr. Proudfoot appeared, most of his body still hidden by the door, which meant only one thing: this wasn’t a Year 13 announcement or a message for sports teams - someone was in for it._

_“Hello, sir!” Miss Hogg said cheerfully, seeming oblivious to the way her class had gone very still and the nervous glances that were starting to be exchanged._

_“Can I borrow Fili for a moment, please?” Mr. Proudfoot asked, his expression grim._

_Fili straightened up as the ‘ohhhhhs’ started and she could feel Henry’s glee radiating out from him across the room. She hadn’t been called to Mr. Proudfoot’s office since Year 11 to talk about how her mentor meetings were going… and she had no idea what this could be about. She’d told Joe Fulton to go fuck himself in the corridor yesterday, but she was sure no one else had heard her._

_“Do I need my bags?” Fili asked, slowly rising from her lab stool._

_“No,” Mr. Proudfoot said bluntly. “Now, please, Fili.”_

_Fili raised an eyebrow: there was an edge of urgency in his tone that unnerved her… and then her heart dropped into her stomach as she was suddenly doused in a cold wave of panic._

_“Is it my uncle?” she whispered, and she felt Zaara grab her hand beneath the bench._

_Mr. Proudfoot didn’t reply, but the answer was in his eyes._

_“Oh my God,” Fili breathed, backing away from the bench, certain that everyone was staring at her, but all she could think about was Thorin telling her he didn’t feel well that morning and that she should’ve stayed with him._

_“Do you want me to come?” Zaara murmured, gently rubbing her arm._

_Fili shook her head, swallowing heavily._

_“We’ll bring your bags to you,” Zaara said, Charlotte nodding her agreement next to her._

_“Fili…”_

_Mr. Proudfoot sounded worried now, so Fili quickly weaved her way around the science benches and came to join him. As soon as the door closed and Mr. Proudfoot led the way down the corridor with long strides, Fili asked: “Did my mum call?”_

_The P.E. teacher was looking unexpectedly pale. “No, Fili… Your uncle is in reception, we think he’s having some kind of attack… We’re not –”_

_Fili set off running. Her thoughts were a blur of colour and noise as she bounded down the corridor before charging around the corner and skidding into reception. And there was her uncle, sitting against the wall, his whole body shaking, vomit staining his jeans… and his right hand was covered in blood._

The lift chimed, making Fili jump as the doors slid open. She walked forward on instinct, going through the motions of buzzing herself through onto the ward with an almost robotic detachment. Her fingers reached up to quickly push her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ears. She was wearing it down today. She’d been dragging a brush through it that morning, trying to force it into a bun, but when her efforts failed she’d actually ended up crying in front of her dressing table mirror. She wasn’t wearing any make-up for much the same reason. God knows she’d looked a state on Thursday, sitting in the back of the ambulance, clutching her uncle’s hand and looking like she’d been punched in both eyes. She could still hear the sirens, feel the ambulance shaking as Ash tried to get them through Leeds city centre’s lunchtime traffic, and she couldn’t remember ever being more scared in her life.

“Fili?”

Fili flinched, eyes jumping up to meet Poppy’s as she handed over the sign-in sheet. She coughed, reaching for one of the battered biros sitting on the nurses’ station.

“Your hair looks lovely like that,” the nurse said gently, offering her a warm smile.

Straightening up and clipping on her visitor’s badge, Fili murmured a quiet ‘Thanks’. She knew everyone was being careful with her, expertly side-stepping around the giant fucked-up elephant in the room. The thought of all the superficial small talk over the past couple of days made her feel sick, but the alternative, of actually facing up to what had happened, was far more terrifying.

She moved around the station, heading for the dayroom corridor, then stopped. Bilbo’s door was wide open… he must have been moved back onto the ward that morning. Feeling her stomach knot itself, she risked a glance to her left. Bilbo was sitting on his bed, staring at his hands. This was the first time Fili had seen him in his room without a book and the picture it painted was unsettling. He was small, shrunken, crumpled in on himself, and his skin was so pale it was almost grey. But Fili knew she was a fool to expect him to look like himself after –

Bilbo suddenly lifted his head and Fili froze. Their eyes met for only a second, but it was enough and she hurried away down the corridor towards Thorin’s room, her heart in her throat. She slowed when she approached the door that was half-way open. It felt strange coming to visit her uncle in a different room, like she’d crossed into some awful parallel universe. Everything about the past couple of days just seemed off… like she was actually walking about in a bad dream.

She knocked lightly on the door and slipped inside with a soft ‘Uncle?’ announcing her arrival.

Thorin was facing away from her. He’d kicked off his blankets and was lying curled up on his side with his face buried in his arms. She waited for a moment to see if he would stir, but when he didn’t move she slowly crept further into the room, coming around the bed towards the window.

The man in the bed didn’t look like her uncle. But Thorin hadn’t looked the same since the moment she’d found him huddled up and bleeding in the Erebor Grammar reception area.

Fili reached out and carefully pulled the blankets back over him, tucking them in around his shoulders, one hand lingering against his arm. When they’d first arrived in the ambulance, she’d been terrified by her uncle’s silence, that he had no memory of how he’d ended up at her school, but she’d clung on to the fact that he had recognised her, that he still knew who she was. Thorin was speaking now, could remember most things up until the moment he left Ered Luin on Thursday, but Fili was still aware of the crushing feeling that things would never be the same again.

She turned to the bedside table and poured water into the plastic cup, ready for when her uncle woke up. She watched the thin spout of water as she tilted the clear jug, tiny flecks speckling the rim of the cup, one drip running down the side. She was sinking again. Her bones were growing moss as she floated down in the shimmering dark towards the ocean floor. It had been months since she’d felt her fingers curling over the edge, felt herself falling… but now things were so fucked up again. Her family circle, that had been slowly expanding this summer, was now collapsing in on itself and Fili felt powerless to stop it, because for once it seemed she wasn’t actually the cause.

She straightened up. The catalyst was sitting, staring at his hands in a room down the corridor. A new determination stirred inside her as her eyes fell on her sleeping uncle, who had just twitched in his sleep, making a sound that was so close to a whimper that Fili’s chest hurt and it only strengthened her resolve. Bilbo had fucked everything up, so he was the one who could un-fuck it.

Fingertips brushing Thorin’s shoulder, she moved away and slipped back out of the room and into the corridor. She’d only managed a few steps before Radagast appeared, carrying a stack of laundry.

“Fili…? Are you alright?” the nurse asked, eyeing her over the bedsheets.

“I… I want to see Bilbo,” Fili replied, cringing at how small her voice sounded, despite her determination from only a few moments ago.

Radagast gave a soft sigh. “I’m not sure that would be a very good idea at the moment.”

Fili squared her shoulders, pushing the tremor from her words. “Please, Radagast… I need to speak to him.”

The nurse’s gaze moved away down the corridor and he was clearly weighing up his response. “I’ll let you go in to him, Fili… But if Bilbo asks you to leave, you do so, promptly.”

Fili nodded, her heart thumping against her ribs. “Of course.”

“I’m just taking these to the laundry, but you make sure you come and find me if you need anything,” Radagast said, his smile warm as he turned to let her past.

“Thanks, Radagast.”

Fili slowed her step as she approached Bilbo’s door, which she knew was being left fully open for a reason. She waited a few moments, just out of sight, and then, inhaling deeply, she stepped into the room.

“… Fili?”

Bilbo was staring at her, his brow furrowed, and she didn’t miss the way his eyes moved behind her, a heart-wrenching flicker of hope appearing, as if he was expecting Thorin to join them. He slipped from the bed and she could almost feel him thinking, assessing.

“Would… you like to sit?” Bilbo gestured to the chairs by the window.

Fili stiffened and slowly shook her head, lips tight. She couldn’t believe that Bilbo still sounded like himself – or like the person she thought she knew. His politeness grated, like the small talk it felt superficial, made her stomach squirm. The anger arrived then. Was Bilbo really going to keep up his façade and act like everything was back to normal…?

“Do you have any idea what it was like?” Fili said, her voice low, almost a hiss. “Being pulled out of my Biology lesson and finding my uncle curled up and shaking… covered in sick… covered in his own blood?”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. This was clearly new information and Fili bristled at the fact that no one had bothered to tell him the state in which his boyfriend had been readmitted to the ward. Bilbo made no reply and his silence pushed Fili to speak. She hadn’t rehearsed any of this in her head like she probably should’ve done and so in the absence of any prepared material, she found herself resorting to a far less eloquent way to express her anger.

“I hate you quite a bit right now,” she whispered, her voice wavering only slightly as her eyes began to sting.

“Not as much as I hate myself, I assure you,” Bilbo replied simply, holding her gaze.

Fili looked away as the first tear dripped down her cheek, her face suddenly feeling hot. Telling Bilbo she hated him had brought relief for only a moment and now she just felt worse. She knew Bilbo wasn’t being melodramatic: in fact, he had stated his hatred of himself so bluntly that she now had no response, so she stayed quiet, still looking away, not even daring to reach up and wipe her eyes.

“Why are you here, Fili?”

Fili carefully turned back to Bilbo. The question had sounded tired and he looked tired.

“Because I need to make this better,” she replied, her throat tightening as she blinked back more tears. “Because I need to fix this… Things… Things can’t go back to the way they were before… I-I won’t let that h-happen…”

Bilbo’s eyes were round and shining, and Fili didn’t miss that he shifted a step closer to her. “Your uncle doesn’t want to see me,” he said quietly, expression pained. “I can’t force him to listen.”

“He’ll listen to me.” Fili straightened up, staring across at Bilbo, the determination returning. “I know he’ll listen to me.”

Bilbo was thinking again, but when he stayed silent, Fili couldn’t stop herself from asking the question that had haunted her since the moment Dr. Grey had delivered the news.

“It’s because I got into Birmingham, isn’t it?” she choked out, her chest burning as she tightened her fingers around the straps of her rucksack.

“Fili…” Bilbo gasped, appearing genuinely shocked.

“I won’t go,” Fili said, trying to put some fire in her gaze despite the tears. “If it’ll make this better, I’ll withdraw my offer… I… I…”

The first sob left her as she hunched her shoulders, one hand going to her mouth. Bilbo approached her slowly then, like he was coming to the aid of an injured animal. He reached out carefully and Fili let him take both her hands in his. They felt soft and warm and it was only then that she realised she had expected them to be smooth and cold… like the hands of a dead man.

“Fili, listen to me,” Bilbo said gently, waiting until she looked at him to continue. “This isn’t because you got into Birmingham and I am never going to take that away from you.”

Fili let out a sniffle, still unsure if she believed him, but she didn’t pull away.

“You have worked so hard…” Bilbo squeezed her hands, his voice beginning to shake. “And I am so, _so_ proud of you.”

Fili’s chest was aflame again and she wasn’t sure whether it was because her heart was breaking or because it was sewing itself back together.

“I want you to go to Birmingham and be happy,” Bilbo continued, a small smile appearing. “I know you’re going to be so happy there, Fili.”

Fili nodded, not quite sure she was ready to speak yet, but Bilbo, unsurprisingly, read her next question in her expression.

“This isn’t your fault,” he repeated firmly. “There are… things that I’ve been through, that I’ve – … Things that happened long before I ever caught you staring into my room that… Well, that make it very difficult for me to want to be here.”

Fili’s eyes were stinging again as she whispered: “I want you here… What I said before, I-I didn’t mean it… I was just…”

“You were angry,” Bilbo said gently. “And you have every right to be, Fili.”

Fili sniffled again and Bilbo’s hands slowly moved up to her shoulders. It was awkward at first, with them both being so careful with each other, but Fili still let Bilbo pull her into a hug. She felt awful, taking comfort from a man who’d tried to kill himself two days ago, but then she figured Bilbo probably needed this too… She wasn’t Thorin, but in that moment she was close enough.

“I want you here,” Fili mumbled again, squeezing her eyes shut and pushing her nose into the soft fabric of Bilbo’s hoodie.

Bilbo tightened his arms around her and murmured: “Thank you.”

It was a long time before either of them moved, but finally Bilbo’s hands dropped from her back and he stepped away. His eyes were reddened as he glanced over his shoulder. “There’s something I’d like to show you… Something I’d like you to read…”

“Okay,” Fili replied, edging towards the chair by the window.

Bilbo went to his bedside table and lifted the red, leather-bound book Fili had sometimes seen him writing in from the drawer. He came to join her and after a moment, they both sat down. Fili slipped her bag from her shoulder and set it on the floor between her knees. Bilbo had gone very quiet and already she felt the weight of what the book must contain; she was a little shocked that he was willing to share.

And then, without saying a word, Bilbo placed the book on the table between them and slowly slid it towards her.

 

…

 

**_September, 2015_ **

 

“What if people make fun of my accent?” Fili asked, keeping her eyes on the toenail that she was currently coating in generous amounts of sky blue nail polish.

Their little convoy had already left Chapel Allerton and were Birmingham-bound when Fili had let out a squeak, realising that the shoes she intended to wear for the first night of Freshers Week were strappy heels and therefore her toes would be on full display. Thorin had pulled over just before the M62 so she could retrieve the bottle of blue polish from the tightly packed collection of bags and boxes in the back of her uncle’s car. She was now sitting with one bare foot up on the dashboard, demonstrating that her yoga skills had indeed come in useful as she contorted herself into different positions so that she could paint each toenail without smudging the polish.

“The Birmingham accent is hardly any better than ours,” Thorin replied, his eyes hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses, but the little lines of crow’s-feet still visible as he smiled.

The day was warm, the cloudless sky almost the colour of Fili’s nail polish, and with the sunlight occasionally flashing on the windscreen, she knew her uncle’s shades were probably necessary. However, as this was the first long-distance journey Thorin had made since he was allowed to start driving again and had acquired his new car, she let him indulge in his dramatics without comment.

“But they won’t have Brummie accents,” Fili grumbled, tongue peeking out of her mouth as she twisted to apply a second coat of polish to the little toe on her right foot. “They’re all going to be from posh boarding schools and private southern academies.”

“Bilbo didn’t go to a posh school,” Thorin pointed out, his voice automatically softening as soon as he said Bilbo’s name.

“Yeah, but Bilbo also sounds like he’s eighth in line to the throne,” Fili quipped, screwing the top back onto the nail polish bottle and wiggling her toes.

“I’m going to tell him you said that.”

“I told him the same last week,” Fili shrugged. “Sometimes I recycle my material.”

Thorin gave a low chuckle. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Sting’s head suddenly popped up from the boot of Dis’ car in front. Dis, Bilbo and Kili were travelling in one car, Fili and Thorin in the other. It was decided that with all of Fili’s things needed for her first year at university, along with five people and two service dogs, it would be best if they split themselves amongst two cars. Bilbo had been the one to suggest that Thorin and Fili travel together and that he join Dis and Kili for the journey. Of course, Bilbo knew that she would probably want some time with Thorin before they said goodbye in Birmingham.

Fili felt her chest tighten a little at the thought. She had wanted nothing but freedom since she was fourteen, but now that she was leaving, being released out into the world on her own, she couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of dread. She knew it was to be expected, because she was going to be living away from home for the first time… but still it set an ache off in her stomach, knowing that things had finally settled down, that she’d been happy, her family had been happy, and now it was all changing again. The thought of the loneliness returning, of being miserable once more, lurked like a shadow on the periphery of her vision and had kept her awake all last night.

“Okay?” Thorin murmured, obviously unnerved by his niece’s sudden silence.

“What if I don’t make any friends?” Fili said, looking out of the window at the traffic racing past on the opposite lane of the M1. “What if no one likes me?”

Thorin looked over at her, his expression sympathetic. “Of course you’re going to make friends,” he said gently. “And everyone will like you.”

“You don’t know that,” Fili mumbled, wrapping her arms around her knees, careful not to jostle her drying toes.

“I do,” Thorin insisted, and he was smiling again. “Because I like you and I don’t like anyone.”

Fili couldn’t help but laugh at that, but then the pang of realising she and her uncle were going to be parting in a few short hours returned. Bilbo had intimated that the separation anxiety she felt was mutual, but so far Thorin was doing a fairly good job at hiding it.

“You know it’s okay to feel nervous about all this, don’t you?” Thorin continued softly, when Fili didn’t reply. “It’s a big change… God knows I was shitting myself when I joined up in ’94.”

Fili nodded, inwardly hoping that her first term at Birmingham wasn’t going to be quite as demanding as her uncle’s Phase 1 Training.

“I don’t know how to iron,” Fili said, feeling her face grow a little flushed as she made this terrible admission. “I’m pretty sure I can feed myself and not get food poisoning… and I can clean a toilet and load a washing machine… but I suck at ironing, I always put more creases into the clothes.”

“I’m sure you’ll get better with practice,” Thorin reassured her. “And if your ironing situation really is that dire, you can just send it to me and I’ll do it for you.”

Fili raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised.

“What? I like ironing – it’s relaxing,” Thorin said, a little defensively. “And Bilbo’s hopeless at it.”

“No way, really?”

“You do realise Bilbo doesn’t do everything for me, don’t you?” Thorin prompted, when the shock didn’t disappear from Fili’s face.

“Yeah, sorry,” she said sheepishly. “And thank you for calling me on my shit.”

“You’re welcome,” Thorin grinned.

Fili went quiet again as yet another fear presented itself. Thorin didn’t press her this time, only kept his focus on the road and waited patiently for her to speak.

“Uncle… I…” Fili stopped, unsure how best to phrase what she wanted to ask, aware that their conversation was now entering slightly more difficult territory. “I just need to know… before I go away… You and Bilbo are good, right…? You’re both okay and you’re not, like, hiding stuff from me because you don’t want me to worry?”

Thorin frowned over at her. “Of course we’re fine.”

“Okay, so you’re not like on the verge of breaking up, but you don’t want to tell me because you think it’ll ruin my first term at Birmingham…?”

Thorin was looking a little panicked now. “No… Why, has Bilbo said something to you?”

Fili instantly realised her mistake and her eyes widened. “Oh my God, no, no, that’s not what I meant… I promise Bilbo isn’t thinking about dumping you!”

Thorin flexed his fingers on the steering wheel and let out a slow breath, after a few moments his smile returned. “Well, that’s good to know.”

“Sorry,” Fili said quietly, colour coming to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to freak you out… I know it’s silly… I just… can’t leave without knowing you’re gonna be okay.”

Fili saw the first flicker cross her uncle’s expression, but then he turned to her with a gentle smile. “Bilbo and I are fine,” he said, speaking calmly and deliberately. “And I promise we’re not hiding anything from you… The last time we argued was over me being late home from the AFCO because my text didn’t send, and that’s been about it for the past three months.”

“Scandalous,” Fili said, admittedly feeling a little better. “I, er, I’m sorry I’m going to miss Bilbo’s birthday.”

Thorin’s jaw twitched and Fili knew they were heading further into potentially dangerous territory.

“It’s alright,” Thorin replied carefully. “We weren’t expecting you to come back up north straight after Freshers Week… and I’ve hidden your card and present somewhere Bilbo will never look.”

Fili laughed. “Do tell…?”

“In the ironing basket,” Thorin deadpanned, and they both ended up chuckling.

They were silent for a few moments before Fili murmured: “… And what about next week?”

Thorin pressed his lips into a line and Fili knew she might regret asking, but still she needed to know. Next week, it would be one year to the day that Mr. Proudfoot had called Fili out of her Biology lesson and she couldn’t help but think that Birmingham had really shit timing when it came to picking their Freshers Week.

“I’ve booked the time off work so that we can spend the day together,” Thorin said, voice sounding a little robotic. “I… don’t really know what’s going to happen beyond that.”

Fili nodded. “You’ll ring me though, in the morning?”

“Will you be out of bed?” Thorin said, clearly choosing to seek out a familiar refuge in humour.

“I’ll be awake, I might not be out of bed,” Fili conceded, and they both shared a smile.

The car came to a stop as they hit traffic leading up to a junction and Thorin took the opportunity to twist around in his seat and check on Dain, who was sitting in the boot. The chocolate Labrador lit up and panted happily as his partner cooed at him.

“The LGBT Society Freshers Social is on Wednesday,” Fili said, picking at a white thread in the ripped knee of her jeans.

“And you’re going to go?” Thorin asked, obviously treading carefully.

“I think so,” Fili said, tone pensive. “Everyone on the Facebook group is talking about it.”

It was Bilbo who had first suggested that Fili join the Birmingham University LGBT Society’s private Facebook group and she had to admit she’d felt a little better once she’d chatted to a few of the society’s exec members and other incoming freshers.

“I think Bilbo would like a few photos of you in The Nightingale.”

“I’ll make sure I send him an appropriate number of selfies.”

“Just as long as you make it back to your bed, Lizard Queen,” Thorin smirked, and Fili instantly let out a groan.

“Are you ever going to let me live that down?” she asked, covering her face with her hands.

“No,” Thorin said simply.

Fili had gone on her first night out in Leeds the weekend after her eighteenth birthday and hadn’t returned home to Chapel Allerton until three o’ clock in the morning. Thorin, unable to sleep until she was home safe, had waited up for her. Fili’s arrival had been heralded by multiple scratching sounds as she tried and failed to get her key in the lock and she had fallen over with a squawk when her uncle opened the door. Thorin had helped her stagger into the kitchen and plied her with toast and hot chocolate. And then, when it was clear that she wasn’t going to make it up the stairs on her own, he had carried her whilst she loudly proclaimed: “I AM THE LIZARD QUEEN!” Thorin had made desperate shushing sounds and she’d continued to whisper about her royal status as he tucked her into bed.

“Oh, you need to turn this up,” Thorin said, Fili’s hazy memories of that night vanishing as she looked to her phone.

She’d put together a ‘Birmingham Road Trip’ playlist that had been playing quietly in the background as she and Thorin chatted. Trust her uncle’s ears to perk up the moment a Queen song appeared in the queue. Fili turned up the volume and the car was filled with the opening instrumentals of ‘Hammer to Fall’.

Thorin tapped along on the steering wheel and Fili made the appropriate guitar playing imitations, still careful not to knock her drying toes, and then the two of them belted out the first verse in a familiar harmony:

_“Here we stand! Or here we fall! History won’t care at all… Make the bed, light the light! Lady Mercy won’t be home tonight!”_

Fili knew her voice wasn’t nearly as good as her uncle’s, but it didn’t matter – she’d always enjoyed listening to music with him and singing along, right from the moment he’d returned to her life in the spring of last year.

_“You don’t waste no time at all…”_

_“…Don’t hear the bell, but you answer the call.”_

Their call and respond was quite rudely interrupted when Queen was suddenly replaced by ringing and Bilbo’s face appeared on the phone’s home screen. Fili scrambled a little, trying to answer without dropping the phone or smudging the polish on her toes, but still she managed to pick up without leaving Bilbo waiting too long.

“Good morning, you’ve reached Captain Oakenshield’s personal assistant, how may I direct your call?” Fili asked, in her best RP accent.

“Hello, Fili,” came Bilbo’s amused voice down the phone. “Your mum is thinking of stopping at the next services for breakfast, would you mind asking your uncle for his thoughts on the matter?”

Fili turned to Thorin, putting her hand over the call-screen. “Breakfast at the next services sound alright?”

Thorin nodded. “Fine by me.”

Fili lifted the phone back to her ear. “We’re in agreement that this is a splendid idea.”

“Excellent,” Bilbo said. “Apologies for interrupting your jamming session.”

Bilbo must have seen them both singing in the car’s wing mirror. “You’re forgiven,” she smirked. “Cheerio, Bilbo.”

Fili hung up and ‘Hammer to Fall’ once again filled the car. Thorin pulled over into the left lane and they continued singing as they headed towards breakfast.

 

…

 

They arrived in Birmingham just before midday. After parking up on a quiet side-road, their little party, each person laden with at least one bag or box, made their way through the village of Selly Oak to Jarratt Hall: Fili’s home for the next year.

The accommodation’s courtyard was buzzing with activity and Fili came to a stop, peering round at the minimalist, red and grey brick buildings. Incoming students and their families were everywhere, carrying suitcases and clothes horses and bedding through different entrances, many being led by people in bright purple t-shirts who were, presumably, current students. Her eyes then fell on a stall set up in the middle of the courtyard. There was a painted banner draped over its tables which proclaimed: ‘WELCOME FRESHERS!’. Fili’s heart was thumping manically against her ribs and her stomach was doing all sorts of complicated acrobatics.

“We should get you signed in, love,” Dis said, and everyone made to move towards the stall.

“No, no, no, wait!” Fili said, her hand shooting out. “It’ll look weird if we all go over there, I don’t want to look weird…”

Fili knew her family had heard the note of panic in her voice and were probably about to speak in soothing tones, so instead she grabbed Thorin’s hand.

“Uncle…” she said, before dragging him over to the stall with her.

They were greeted by a black girl wearing a purple t-shirt and on closer inspection Fili saw that her name, Sonia, along with ‘Freshers Rep’ had been stitched onto the pocket in white cotton, just above the Birmingham University crest.

“Hello!” Sonia said, sounding beyond cheerful, but Fili supposed it was part of the job description. “Welcome to Jarratt Hall, can I take your name?”

Fili hesitated for a moment, but then Thorin squeezed her hand. “It’s, er, it’s Fili… Fili Oakenshield, Anthropology and Political Science…?”

Sonia began flicking through the pages on her plastic clipboard and for one horrible moment Fili was convinced her name wouldn’t be on there and that her place at Birmingham had all been one massive clerical error, but then Sonia’s finger landed on her name.

“Fili, there you are!” she said, smile wide as she began rooting through a basket of keys. “Right, you’re in Flat 17, Room 3… Here are your keys, and this is your Freshers Pack, and Charlie just needs to know what size you’ll need for your Freshers t-shirt!”

Fili had to let go of her uncle’s hand to accept the keys and the Freshers Pack, that appeared to be a collection of leaflets, a guide book, and University stationery in a clear plastic wallet. It took her a moment to sort through the onslaught of information and then she turned to Charlie, who was looking at her expectantly as his hands hovered over an enormous crate of white t-shirts.

“Er, medium…?” she managed to stammer out, and she was immediately presented with her official Freshers t-shirt.

“Okay, Victoria is going to take you up to your flat.” Sonia indicated the blonde girl next to her. “And don’t worry, Dad, we’re going to look after her for you.”

Sonia was smiling up at Thorin and one sideways glance confirmed that he was wearing quite a solemn expression, but as soon as he caught Fili looking the warmth returned to his eyes. Victoria started to lead them away from the stall and so Fili gestured to Dis, Bilbo, and Kili that they should follow.

Flat 17 was tucked into the righthand corner of Jarratt Hall on the second floor. Victoria accompanied them all the way to the door, then turned to Fili with a smile. “I’ll leave you to get settled in, but if you need anything just ask one of the Freshers reps – we’ll be down in the courtyard all day.”

Fili nodded her thanks and then, with Thorin sticking close to her side, she pushed open the door and stepped through into the flat. They all filed into the lounge area and found two boys sitting on the low, dark blue sofas: they immediately straightened up as their eyes fell on Fili, making her face grow a little hot. The girl who had been standing in the open plan kitchen came over to greet them. Her hair was cropped short, shaved at the sides, swooping over into a thick fringe at the front. It was a beautiful silvery-purple colour and Fili couldn’t help but reach up to fiddle with her own hair, wondering if she should have done something more exciting with it before she came to uni.

“Dude, do you have any unattractive people in your family?” she asked, Fili picking up on her Scouse accent as she grinned at the flat’s new arrivals.

“We left them in the car,” Bilbo said, making everyone snort.

“I’m Shay.” Shay offered her hand for Fili to shake. “Policy, Politics and Economics… This is Michael, Engineering, and Dan, he’s doing Earth Sciences.”

Michael and Dan both waved, accompanied by slightly awkward smiles.

“Fili, Anthropology and Political Science,” Fili replied, to murmurs of general interest.

“What room are you in?” Dan asked helpfully, sitting forward.

“Oh, er, Room 3…?” Fili lifted her keys to check.

“Just at the end of the corridor,” Dan smiled. “Do you guys need any help carrying stuff in?”

“No, I… think we’re good,” Fili said, her stomach feeling tight again.

“Why don’t Kili and I get all your kitchen things unpacked, sweetheart?” Dis prompted, setting a heavy box down on the worktop with a metallic clack. “You and your uncles can go and get things sorted out in your room.”

Fili nodded and turned to make her way down the corridor, aware that it had probably been a bit too crowded in the lounge with all of them clustered together with various bits of luggage. After fighting with the small, silver key, Fili managed to get the door open. Her room was small but modern, with a single bed against one wall and a desk made of light-coloured wood against the other. There was also a wardrobe and rows of shelves above the desk, with a door that led to her en suite bathroom. The large window overlooked the courtyard, which was still very much alive with activity as more students continued to arrive.

“Shall we make your bed?” Thorin suggested, after he had settled Dain down in the corner next to Sting.

“Right, yeah, good shout…”

Bilbo was sitting at her desk with her laptop, already getting it fired up. “I thought I’d get you connected to the Uni’s Wi-Fi straight away, seen as that’s always a worry.”

He paused when her laptop lock-screen appeared, but Fili only rolled her eyes. “I know you know my password, Bilbo.”

Bilbo immediately tapped it in. “And I’m very flattered, Fili.”

Fili and Thorin made her bed in silence whilst Bilbo ensured her laptop would be able to provide her with a connection to the outside world. Her heartbeat hadn’t slowed at all since her arrival in the flat and she knew the sickly feeling in her stomach was because the moment of her family’s departure was drawing closer. It had been her decision: that she get settled in her student accommodation and then everyone else would go off into the city centre so Bilbo could visit a few of his old haunts before heading home. Fili knew she was welcome to join them, but she felt drawing out their goodbye might do more harm than good.  

After making her bed, she and Thorin moved onto her clothes whilst Bilbo unpacked her jewellery and her books.

“Where would you like your Ganesh, Fili?” Bilbo asked, lifting the bronze statue of the elephant-headed remover of obstacles out of a box.

“Oh, er, on the window sill, I think,” Fili replied, as she slipped the last shirt onto a coat hanger.

Bilbo went and carefully set the idol down on the sill, lining it up with the window with obvious reverence. “Hopefully he’ll get you to your lectures on time, hangovers and all.”

Soon every bag and box had been emptied and Fili’s gaze moved around the room’s pale blue walls. She felt a little better now that it looked less sterile and more cosy… more like it was hers.

“I’ve put all your toiletries in your bathroom,” Thorin said, appearing from the en suite.

“You mean the six tubes of toothpaste and the two hundred rolls of toilet paper?” Fili asked, managing a fond smile. “I swear Mum seems to think she’s sent me to some uninhabited island and not the Midlands… I told her there would probably be a Tesco nearby.”

“Speak of the devil,” Thorin grinned, as Dis slipped into the room, followed by Kili.

“Oh, this is lovely,” she said, smiling as her eyes wandered around the room. “Much nicer than my friends’ first year student digs.”

“And mine,” Bilbo agreed.

There was a moment’s quiet before Dis continued: “Everything’s all ready for you in the kitchen, love. You’ve got a shelf in the fridge and your own cupboard, the one just to the left of the sink.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Fili replied, already feeling her eyes begin to sting.

“We can stay as long as you want us to, sweetheart,” Dis said gently.

But Fili shook her head. “No, it’s alright – you’ve got things to see… I, er, I should really look through my Freshers Pack, go and be sociable…”

“Okay,” Dis smiled. “But you know you can ring and we’ll come straight back.”

Fili nodded and then Dis stepped forward, hands coming to her shoulders, her blue eyes shining. “I love you,” she whispered, pulling her into a hug.

Fili hugged back fiercely, squeezing her eyes shut. “I love you too, Mum.”

She scrubbed at her face as Kili stepped forward, his face looking pale. “I’m gonna miss you, Fee,” he mumbled, pressing his face into her shoulder.

“Me too, Kee,” Fili whispered. “But you’ve got to Snapchat me all the time, okay? And make sure you keep working hard this year.”

She felt him nodding against her. “I will, I promise.”

Dis ushered her son away and the two of them moved out into the hallway to give everyone a bit more space. Bilbo came forward next and took both of Fili’s hands in his.

“I know you’re going to be so happy here, Fili,” he said, squeezing her hands. “So just make sure you enjoy every single second of it.”

Fili nodded as Bilbo pulled her into a crushing hug. It was a few moments before she pulled away and Bilbo straightened up, his eyes moving to Thorin, who had been hovering silently in the corner of the room.

“Come on, Sting,” Bilbo said, urging the Golden Retriever onto his feet.

He placed a gentle hand on his boyfriend’s arm and then he and Sting padded out after Dis and Kili, Bilbo discreetly shutting the door to behind him.

Fili moved to Thorin and let him wrap his arms around her as she pressed her face into his chest. The tears came instantly and she tightened her grip around his waist as she stifled a sob.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Thorin whispered, but Fili heard the crack in his voice, which only brought more tears to her eyes.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” she said, with a hiccup, as her uncle rested his chin on her hair.

“I… I wish I’d come home sooner,” he murmured, sounding so impossibly small, and Fili felt her chest give a horrible twinge.

“No,” Fili said, blinking away tears as she peered up into her uncle’s face. “You came home, that’s what matters.”

Thorin’s hands moved up to her shoulders. “If you ever need me to come and pick you up, I won’t ask any questions… Just let me know and I’ll come straight down and get you.”

“Thanks, Uncle,” Fili whispered. “And if you need me back at home, even if it’s just for a couple of days, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

“I promise I will,” Thorin replied, reaching up to wipe his eyes.

“I love you,” Fili mumbled, leaning forward and pressing her forehead back against his chest.

Thorin rubbed a hand over her back. “I love you too… and I’ve never been more proud of you, Fili. You know that, don’t you?”

Fili choked out her ‘yes’ as Thorin slowly pulled her away.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay for a little while?” he asked softly.

Fili nodded, knowing it would only get worse the longer her uncle lingered in the room. “I’ll be okay… But we’ll Skype tonight, before I go out?”

“Of course.”

There was a moment of quiet, but then Fili took a step back, smiling up at Thorin despite her tears. “Bye, Uncle… Speak soon.”

Thorin leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Bye, Fili.”

He hesitated for a moment, but then he put his hand out for Dain. The Labrador ambled to his side and then, with a silent wave, they both disappeared from the room.

Fili stood there for a long time, before slowly moving over to the window. Her heart jolted when she saw Thorin standing in the corner of the courtyard, almost directly beneath her flat, obviously unaware that his niece could see him. He was facing the wall and Bilbo had his arms wrapped around his waist as he pressed his nose into his back. After a few moments, Thorin turned in Bilbo’s arms and let the younger man snuggle into him. Fili couldn’t help her teary smile as she watched Kili come over and join them. He carefully slipped his hand into his uncle’s as he and Bilbo broke apart and led him back across the courtyard towards Dis.

There was a soft knock at the door and Fili jumped, turning away from the window. “C-come in,” she stuttered, and Shay stepped in from the hallway.

“Oh shit, sorry…” she said, obviously clocking Fili’s reddened face.

Fili’s hand jumped to her eyes. “No… it’s alright, just… saying goodbye…”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I proper bawled when my grandparents dropped me off this morning,” Shay said sympathetically, she then held a half-eaten packet of biscuits out towards her. “Would you like a chocolate Hobnob?”

Fili couldn’t help but laugh as she stepped forward to accept a Hobnob. “I would love one.” She then gestured to the bed. “Do you, er, wanna sit…?”

“Sure!” Shay grinned, and they both made themselves comfortable. “Michael’s mum totally forgot to pack all the cutlery she bought him, so we’re thinking of heading into town this afternoon for a trip to Wilko’s, if you want to join?”

Fili smiled, nibbling on her Hobnob. “That sounds great. My mum’s packed enough stuff to last me a decade in the wilderness, so I don’t think I’ll need anything.”

Shay laughed. “You can help Michael pick out his new knives and forks then.”

There was a moment of quiet, then Fili couldn’t help herself: “I really love your hair.”

Shay reached up to twiddle the tip of her fringe. “Cheers! It used to be blue, but I figured I’d try something new for Freshers… That tattoo down the back of your neck is awesome by the way. D’you mind if I ask what the numbers mean?”

Fili’s hand jumped to her neck, the tattoo there now visible as her hair was currently pulled up into a bun. “It’s a date… the date I was, er, reunited with my uncle when he came back from Afghanistan.”

“Oh my God, no way,” Shay said. “My mum’s still serving. I managed to speak to her last week though…”

Fili wiped her eyes again, unable to stop herself from smiling as Shay started explaining her life as ‘an army brat’… and she felt as if she was floating, bobbing on the surface of the water, breathing deeply and freely as she kicked the moss from her feet and looked up into a bright, sunlit sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I really hope you enjoyed this update, guys. It’s 13,000+ words long and took for bloody ever to write, so if you have the time and could possibly give me some feedback, it would be so, so appreciated! 
> 
> A few quick notes:  
> * SENCo = Special Educational Needs Coordinator  
> * At Birmingham, students take Policy, Politics and Economics instead of the traditional Philosophy, Politics and Economics, I promise it isn’t a typo! 
> 
> However, as this chapter is so ridiculously long and it’s taken me an age to actually write it, there is a chance that you’ve found some typos. Please just bear with me: I can’t really look at this update for a second longer right now, but I promise it will be edited very shortly ;) 
> 
> If you’ve been following my Star Wars AU, ‘and sow a star divided in us’, I’m pleased to announce that the ever-amazing Shipsicle has produced another wonderful piece of artwork for the last chapter, which you can find here:  
> shipsicle.tumblr.com/post/163711496761/mistakenmagics-a-remover-of-obstacles-awesome
> 
> EDIT: 'Dust in the Road' now has the most beautiful cover gif based on this chapter, also designed by Shipsicle. It's absolutely gorgeous and you can find it here:   
> shipsicle.tumblr.com/post/164517822375/its-a-date-the-date-i-was-er-reunited-with-my
> 
> Thank you to all of you for supporting me and this ‘verse. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get another chapter to you, but I promise you won’t have to wait as long as last time and I’m definitely looking forward to exploring some Bifur & Ori backstory goodness! <3


	10. November, 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So I’m full of cold at the moment and my throat feels like its full of chainsaws, but I was determined to get a little something to you this weekend as I might not be able to write again for some time. 
> 
> Littlenori, Airborn, and GaiaYukari85 asked for some Bifur and Ori backstory; it feels like this has been a long time coming and I’m really pleased to finally have this scene posted.

_“You are so brave and so quiet, I forget you are suffering.” – Ernest Hemingway_

 

****

Rosie was after something.

She was humming a series of random notes as she wrapped the dark blue cuff around the top of Bilbo’s left arm, the blood pressure monitor giving a low beep as the cuff tightened. Her casual cheer didn’t quite match the small, black blot of mascara in the corner of her eye which indicated an accidental stabbing: the result of irritability and fatigue after her last series of night shifts.

Bilbo felt his shoulders lock as his fingers twitched around the grey hoodie he was holding in his lap. As his mind began to sort through a list of possible requests, calculating the likelihood of each in turn, the wool grew thicker inside his chest. Ghostly tendrils reached out to each other across the gulf, twining like fingers and meshing together into an almost opaque fog. Bilbo decided then that if Rosie was about to suggest a restorative meeting with Graham he was going to lift her phone from her locker and change all her passwords again.

Rosie’s brow was pinched as she slowly removed the cuff from his arm. High blood pressure then, not that Bilbo was surprised. Last night had not been a good one and there was a familiar, gnawing pain burrowing into his right temple, a barbed mole digging its way across his skull, just beneath his eyebrow.

“Blood pressure’s a little high, Bilbo,” Rosie said, the pronouncement not matching her unwavering smile.

This was going to be a dangerous request. Bilbo recalculated the probabilities. He was going to change the address on her Just Eat account.

“Can you score your pain for me?” Rosie asked, tone light, as she packed away the blood pressure monitor.

“One or two,” Bilbo replied dismissively, sliding his arms into his hoodie and shrugging it on. He let out a slow breath, feeling the tension in his shoulders unwinding. 

“Okay, well let me know if that changes.”

Bilbo’s hand stilled on the zip. Rosie knew he was lying… but this morning she’d made the decision not to fight him on it. She was purposefully placating him and he wanted to know why.

“What?” he asked quietly, narrowing his eyes at the nurse as she moved around to the end of his bed so she could record the obs on his chart.

“What?” Rosie echoed, glancing up from her pencil scribblings.

“What do you want?” Bilbo elaborated, trying to keep his voice steady.

Rosie dropped the chart back into the box, seeming completely unsurprised that he’d figured out a request was coming. “Well, I’ve just got a favour to ask.”

She glanced behind her, past the nurses’ station, but not in the direction of Graham’s room. Bilbo recalculated and it took all of eight seconds to reach the most likely conclusion.

“No,” he said, zipping his hoodie up to his chin. “Not happening.”

Rosie raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t even asked yet.”

Bilbo slid from the bed and stepped into his slippers, shoving his hands into the deep pockets of his hoodie as pain sparked right behind his eye, the mole’s claws scratching at his skull. “I’m not breaking a new patient in for you.”

“Bilbo –”

He side-stepped her, heading for the door.

“You’re going to Bifur’s room.”

Bilbo stopped, not turning to look at her. It wasn’t a lucky guess: Rosie understood him more than he gave her credit for. Still, he didn’t turn, his eyes fixed on the ward beyond the door. “Yes, he is profoundly less irritating.”

“I know,” Rosie said softly. “You told me as much after I’d brought him to see you for the first time… Remember that?”

“Of course I –” Bilbo paused, the memory urging him to drop the acid from his tone. “Of course I remember.”

He had been on the ward for two weeks, already sick to death of the people and the noise and the questions and the talking and the talking and the talking. He had taken to either sitting behind his door or behind one of the chairs by the window: an act of rebellion against many things, himself included – refusing the comforts of a bed and perfectly nice furniture and choosing instead to be awkward about it and sit on the floor.

Rosie had brought Bifur to him one afternoon. Bilbo had clocked the old soldier’s scar and speech difficulties and thought this was some bizarrely unethical show by the hospital of ‘Here, look, you could have it worse’. However, the moment Bifur’s hands had started forming a greeting, something changed. His signing was beyond rusty, but Bifur was patient, and there had been something very soothing about being able to communicate without sound, being able to stay silent but still have a voice. And that’s what patients did for each other at Ered Luin: they offered an escape from isolation, solace in knowing that you weren’t alone and someone else understood what it was like to feel damaged beyond repair.

“You know this constitutes emotional blackmail, right?” Bilbo sighed, no tightness left in his voice, only tiredness.

Rosie shrugged. “It’s still only a request, not an order.”

Bilbo turned his body towards her slightly, weighing up her expression, her body language. He wondered if asking this of him was the staff’s show of good faith, that they were starting to trust him again. It had been a month since Haldir and the storeroom and the shard of mirror. His wrist flashed with a momentary prickling heat. Was this an olive branch in the shape of a new Graham? The grey wool gave a sickly shiver at the thought.

“He’s not Graham,” the nurse said gently, Bilbo electing to ignore this annoying show of telepathy. “He’s nineteen and he’s shit-scared.”

 _Jesus Christ_. Nineteen? Barely more than a child and stuck in here. _Findley would have been nineteen… Just nineteen-years-old when Azog put a bullet in his brain and…_ Bilbo straightened up, yanking at the zip to make sure it was as far as it could go.

“He’s on Bifur’s corridor,” Rosie continued, her eyes flickering to his hoodie. “They’ve taken quite a shine to each other, but, well, communication is proving a little difficult.”

 _Communication_. Something clicked in Bilbo’s mind. “He’s the one with functional aphasia?”

Rosie was frowning now. “He’s made some progress and it’s presenting more like dysphasia now… and you need to stop listening in to nurses’ conversations.”

Bilbo’s chest tightened. He’d just inadvertently let Rosie know about his casual surveillance. Big mistake. The nursing staff would probably be more cautious now, which would make it more difficult to gain intel. He gave himself a good mental kicking before appraising Rosie again.

“So… you want me to act as translator?”

Rosie shifted her weight from one foot to the other. No, then. Something more. “Ori has come to us from the ICU… He’s struggling with his new surroundings. He’s very withdrawn, distrustful of staff… and we can’t get him to leave his room at the moment.”

Bilbo breathed slowly out through his nose as the wool beneath his ribs hardened. This wasn’t pity – it was never pity. It was a special sort of empathy, he supposed, or as close as he could get to it, given that his emotions didn’t quite work as they used to.

“What would you like me to do?” he asked, hoping Rosie knew this question was sincere and not rhetorical.

“Just sit with him for a little while, introduce yourself,” Rosie answered, smiling now. “Even if he doesn’t talk to you, we’re hoping it might provide a bit of a reassurance, help him settle in.”

Bilbo nodded, avoiding Rosie’s gaze as fledgling spikes started rising from the wool like beach groynes at low tide. He hadn’t been able to bring Findley home, but maybe he could help Ori feel safer in his temporary one.

“He’s clever, you know,” Rosie said, guiding Bilbo back to the present. “Turned down a place studying Biology at Manchester to join up.”

“I bet his family loved that,” Bilbo said, catching himself too late.

Rosie pursed her lips. Ah, he was right then. His parents desperately tried to persuade him not to join the Forces, to go to uni instead, but he went off to a war zone and almost got himself killed… but you can’t say ‘I told you so’ when your son ends up in acute care then doesn’t speak for months. Rosie reached up to fiddle with the silver watch hanging from her scrubs pocket. So the parents had been taking their frustration out on the nursing staff instead.

“Dr. Grey says he’s quite the artist,” Rosie added, wisely deciding to change the subject. “Sketching is the only thing he’s shown any interest in since he arrived.”

Bilbo’s eyes moved to his bookshelves as he began rifling through his mental catalogue. “And you’d like me to come and see him now?”

Rosie’s eyes were bright. “If that’s okay with you.”

With an affirmative hum, Bilbo moved to one of the larger sets of wooden shelves in the corner. He carefully pulled a large, glossy hardback from the end of the row, but knitted his brows as soon as he saw the cover: Picasso’s ‘Guernica’ was spread out behind the bold title. Not a good idea. He promptly slid the book back into place. He had more luck with the second and third shelves, collecting a biography of Claude Monet, a book of Andy Warhol’s portraits, and a guide to Classical Greek art. He was a historian, not an art historian, but still he hoped this selection from his personal library might be of some interest to Ori.

“Well, I can’t arrive empty-handed, can I?” Bilbo said, trying not to bristle at Rosie’s grin.

She’s pleased with me, he thought. But isn’t this what I want? To gain the staff’s trust again to make next time easier?

“Come on then,” Rosie nodded towards the door and Bilbo followed her out on the ward.

He had expected them to stop by Bifur’s room and collect him on the way, but the older man’s room was empty.

“Bifur’s in his session at the moment,” Rosie commented lightly. “But he can come and join you as soon as he’s finished with Dr. Lorien.”

So I’m to be without my own safety net, Bilbo mused, because Bifur isn’t the one who needs to redeem himself. The wool coiled in his stomach as they came to a stop in front of Ori’s door. Bilbo flexed his fingers around the pile of books in his hands. Rosie knocked softly, then guided him into the room, one hand on his shoulder – a show of solidarity for Ori, it’s not a case of ‘us’ and ‘them’ the hand said, we work together here.

Ori was sitting on his bed, knees tucked into his chest, his whole body swallowed by an ill-fitting, handknitted jumper. The way he was peering at them with wide, startled eyes and his odd, perched position made him appear like some peculiar breed of owl, his hair – just growing back after either burns or surgery – formed a crown of soft, tawny feathers on his head.

The teenager slowly lifted his head from his knees and Bilbo forced himself not to react to the raw, pale pink scratches that scraped over his cheeks and forehead. Flaking skin, irregular patterns – self-inflicted, done out of frustration with his dysphasia. It was then that Bilbo noticed the gloves, also handknitted… meant to form a barrier between fingernails and face, like a cat with a plastic cone. Ori saw him looking and his expression instantly darkened, although it was definitely with shame as opposed to anger.

He gave himself another kick. Ori wasn’t a cat, or an owl: he was a person, a person in a bloody awful situation and Bilbo needed to do better. He offered Ori a gentle smile, keeping his eyes on his face and not his hands.

“Ori, this is Bilbo, the person I was telling you about,” Rosie said, ushering him into a chair at Ori’s bedside. “He’s just dropped by to say ‘hello’.”

“Hello, Ori,” Bilbo said, taking this as his cue. “I brought you some books I thought you might be interested in.”

He placed the books on the bed, sliding them into the middle of the sheets so Ori could inspect them properly. Which he did, with obvious suspicion, not that Bilbo blamed him.

“Right, I’ll give you two some space,” Rosie said, backing away. “I’ll be at the nurses’ station if you need anything.”

Ori watched her leave, wide brown eyes lingering on the door, before he slowly turned his attention back to Bilbo. He tried to tighten his arms around his knees, but his left arm remained in the same slack position. Bilbo knew Ori must have suffered some serious physical injuries if he’d been admitted to the ICU first and he guessed at least one bone in the arm had been broken. The hesitance of the movements also suggested burns.

“I’m not sure what kind of art you prefer, but I think I’ve got about three different centuries covered here,” Bilbo said, nodding to the books. “If they’re no good, I can take them back… I promise I won’t be offended.”

Ori’s eyes lingered on the Monet biography for a time, but then he was studying Bilbo again with an expression torn between confusion and wariness. He swallowed twice, before speaking: “I…I… it’s…”

He paused and Bilbo didn’t react, knowing patience was key.

“I-it’s…”

Ori closed his eyes with a grimace. He looked tired and a lot older than his nineteen years. His gloved fingers curled around his knees as he tried again: “It’s… l… l-like…”

Forming the words almost seemed to be physically painful and Bilbo’s instinct was to intervene, but he knew this wouldn’t be welcomed. Instead, he stayed quiet, keeping his expression neutral.

Ori huffed out a breath as he grabbed a notebook and pencil from his bedside table. He clearly saw this as a defeat and somewhere, deep inside his chest, Bilbo felt the wool rip. The young soldier scribbled out his message, blinking furiously as he did so, then held the pad out to Bilbo, looking away across the room until the notebook was taken from him.

The words were written across the lines, some letters shaky, from frustration rather than motor issues, but the handwriting still retained a certain elegance that indicated some skill at calligraphy.

_“It’s like being back at school. I didn’t have any friends so my brother made the teachers pair me up with other students.”_

Bilbo read the message through again. Not his parents then, but an older, protective brother who had been giving Rosie a hard time. Lost his parents young, felt stifled by his brother, maybe joined up as an act of rebellion – a way to assert his independence. Or maybe as an escape from his family. Horribly ironic then, that he’d ended up in Ered Luin. Bilbo stopped himself. This wasn’t helpful, and this wasn’t why he was here.

“I assure you I’m here voluntarily,” Bilbo said, handing the pad of paper back to Ori with a smile. “Rosie isn’t nearly as persuasive as she thinks she is… I promise I am here because I want to be.”

This obviously wasn’t the answer Ori had been expecting. He was watching Bilbo with a guarded look, still sussing him out, trying to decide if he was friend or foe.

“A… A…” he gave up more quickly this time, but instead of frustration, there was panic in his eyes as he looked from Bilbo to the door, and the wool ripped again.

“Ori, listen to me,” he said softly, calmly, leaning forward in his chair. “You are allowed to take as much time as you need to say something… I’m not going to leave, I’m not going to watch the clock, I’m not going to get frustrated with you.”

Ori took a moment to process Bilbo’s words, his eyes beginning to shine, then he nodded. He straightened up, fanning his fingers out across his knees. “A… A-are…” He drew in a deep breath, letting it out in a shudder. “Y-you… a…” It took Ori a little more time to form the next word as he made some guttural noises in the back of his throat, swallowing a few more times, before trying again: “… D… D… doc… tor…?”

“No, I’m not,” Bilbo replied gently. “I was in military intelligence.”

Bilbo stopped when he realised he may have misinterpreted Ori’s question. The young man hadn’t been asking if he was in the Medical Corps, he wanted to know if he was actually a doctor at the hospital. Surely Rosie had explained who he was…? His gaze flickered to his tartan pyjama bottoms and his slippers. Did Ori really think the hospital was perpetrating some kind of ruse in a bid to coax him out of his shell? That they’d literally dressed him up as an inpatient to gain Ori’s trust? Bilbo now realised admitting to being in military intelligence didn’t exactly help his case either if Ori was under the impression that he was being fooled.

The teenager continued to appraise him with a look of obvious scrutiny as he wrapped his arms around his knees again.

“This isn’t a trick,” Bilbo said, slowly and deliberately. “I was admitted as an inpatient in 2011, after the rest of my unit were killed in Iraq.”

 _Bullets… Azog… Findley… Hamfast…_ Bilbo tried his best to keep his expression open and warm as the wool crawled up into his throat.

Ori seemed to be gearing up to speak again, but then his shoulders slumped before an attempt could be made and he picked up the pad and pencil. The message was neater this time, written on the lines with clear spaces between the words.

_“I want to believe you but I can’t tell the difference anymore.”_

Bilbo knew Ori meant the difference between reality and the battlefield, whether that came in the form of nightmares or flashbacks or hallucinations. Last night he’d found himself back in Azog’s concrete cell, then he’d woken up with a gun in his hand and screamed and screamed at Radagast to take it from him until he was curled up and shaking on the floor. He’d been giving Lady Macbeth a run for her money for years.

“I know what that’s like,” he said carefully. “My mind isn’t very kind to me either… but I can show you something that might help you tell the difference, at least in my case.”

Ori furrowed his brow at that, but shifted forward slightly in the bed nevertheless.

“Ori, I have a scar on my right wrist… It isn’t at all pleasant to look at, but if it would help you to make the distinction, I can show you… But only if that’s something you’re comfortable with.”

Bilbo knew Ori must have seen Bifur’s scar if they had spent some time together, but he wanted to be sure that this wasn’t going to be counterproductive. To his surprise, Ori took little time to consider his offer and nodded, lowering his knees from his face.

Ignoring the knots being slowly formed in his chest, Bilbo pulled up his hoodie sleeve, scrunching the soft fabric at his elbow, and held his wrist forward. The wound was a month old, the skin still discoloured around the thick, jagged line of purple. He kept his eyes on Ori, not wanting to pay any more attention to this evidence of failure. Ori stared at his wrist for a long time, his surprise slowly melting into something sadder. Then he reached out, fingers hovering over Bilbo’s arm, asking silent permission.

Bilbo nodded. “You can touch it, that’s fine.”

He knew the importance of a tactile approach when you were seeing and hearing things that weren’t there. Ori’s finger tips brushed gingerly over his skin, making it prickle. Little bursts of irritation sprung up beneath the bruising, but Bilbo tried his best not to react. Ori didn’t linger and soon drew his hand back to his knees.

“S… S… S…” He winced, but kept trying. “S… Soh… soh…”

His hands came to his face as he let out a hiss and when fingers curled towards his cheeks, Bilbo decided an intervention was necessary this time.

“This is how you say ‘sorry’ in Sign Language,” he said, drawing Ori’s attention back to him. He pulled his sleeve down and made a circular motion on his chest with a fist.

The hands slowly fell from Ori’s face and Bilbo repeated the sign. After a few moments, Ori copied it, suddenly looking intrigued.

“But you have nothing to apologise for,” Bilbo reassured him, with a small smile.

Ori reached for his notebook, his writing showing the same flicker of interest as he handed it over to Bilbo.

_“How do you say thank you in sign language?”_

Bilbo placed the pad on the bed next to Ori. “Like this…” He brought the fingertips of one hand to his chin, then moved it out towards Ori, showing him the sign twice more.

Ori imitated it perfectly the first time, a brightness appearing in his brown eyes.

“Bifur and I are both fluent in BSL,” Bilbo explained. “We’d be happy to teach you some signs… if you think it might be helpful?”

Ori nodded, signing ‘thank you’ again. And then, as if on cue, Bifur appeared in the doorway. Bilbo noted the way Ori relaxed a little further, the tension leaving his posture. The old soldier signed cheerful greetings and came to take a seat at the other side of the bed.

“Ori would like to learn some Sign Language,” Bilbo said, signing as he spoke. “I’ve told him we’d be happy to help him out.”

Bifur smiled his approval before lifting his hands to sign: _Has he chosen a sign name yet?_

Bilbo turned back to Ori. “Would you like to choose a sign name for yourself? It saves you having to fingerspell it every time… Mine is…” Bilbo formed his hands into bunny ears on either side of his head. “Because my codename whilst I was training was ‘Little Bunny’.” He ignored Bifur’s snort: he knew his friend was never not going to find that funny. “Or sometimes we use this…” He formed his hands into two circles. “Because it’s the sign for the letter ‘B’ and my name is Bilbo Baggins.”

“Bifur’s sign name is this…” He made a line down his forehead in the same place as Bifur’s scar. The older man had been happy to name himself after his injury. Part of his healing had been embracing his scar, and Bilbo only wished he could be that brave. “Have you got any ideas for your name…?”

Ori thought for a moment, then held his hands up, pointing at his knitted gloves. It wasn’t the choice Bilbo had expected, given that the gloves seemed to have initially been a source of shame… but then again, maybe the teenager was stronger than he’d given him credit for.

Bifur moved his fist over his flattened palm, repeating the motion on the other hand in the sign for ‘gloves’. Ori peered over at him, lifting his hands ready. When Bifur repeated the sign, more slowly this time, he was able to mimic him, a small smile of victory appearing as he looked to Bilbo for approval.

“That’s the sign for ‘gloves’ and now also your sign name.”

Ori made the sign a few more times until he was satisfied. Watching him, Bilbo felt a few gaps appearing in the wool as it retreated from his throat. Ori signed Bifur’s name, before suddenly turning a grin on Bilbo as he lifted his hands into bunny ears.  

Bilbo gave a dramatic sigh. “Yes, yes, alright… Honestly, you and Bifur are going to be as bad as each other.”

Ori and Bifur shared a conspiratorial smirk, before Ori was signing another ‘thank you’. The older men returned simultaneous ‘you’re welcomes’, and it was difficult not to notice just how different this bright-eyed teenager looked from the one Bilbo had found only twenty minutes ago.

But this was what they did at Ered Luin: it may be a different kind of unit to the ones they were used to, but still they looked out for one another, making sure they all knew that, despite everything they’d been through, they really had found their way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, writing Bilbo’s POV never seems to get any easier! This turned out a lot shorter than I’d intended and is probably only ‘Part One’ of Ori and Bifur’s backstories, but I didn’t want to leave you guys waiting too long for an update. 
> 
> Now, If I’m honest, with ‘Dust in the Road’ it’s always a bit of a struggle to get pen to virtual paper. The updates are usually so very long and pretty heavy-going… and recently I’ve been worried that maybe I might be flogging a dead horse? That maybe it’s time to wrap up this fic? I’ve been writing for the Obstacles!verse for over three years now and I don’t want to feel like I’ve dragged all this out way past its expiry date. I still have some stories to tell here, but I think I may only have a couple more chapters left in me. 
> 
> Okay, apologies for rambling! Again, I’m sorry this update is so short, but I really hope you all got something from it, and thank you all so much for sticking with this story, it really is very much appreciated! <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Oh, and before you go, please do check out this stunning piece of ‘Dust in the Road’ cover art by the absolutely amazing Shipsicle:
> 
> shipsicle.tumblr.com/post/164517822375/its-a-date-the-date-i-was-er-reunited-with-my


	11. December, 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for all your lovely comments on Chapter 10 – it wasn’t the update I wanted to post, but unfortunately time and real life got in the way. However, I’m now very pleased to bring you ‘Part II’ in this Ori and Bifur story arc… Hot chocolate, biscuits and tissues are available on request! 
> 
> Warning: This chapter includes a nightmare, symptoms of panic, and discussions of a suicide attempt.

**_December, 2013_ **

****

_“Ori always goes in to Bifur when he’s having a tough night.”_

Ori reached up to wipe the beads of sweat from his sticky brow with the back of his hand and flexed his toes inside his boots, trying to keep the tingling numbness at bay. There were five of them sitting in a mess of elbows and knees, crammed into the back of the Land Rover with their sergeant and driver up front. They were three hours into their day-long journey, travelling in convoy across the desert and already cool air had become a myth. Ori leaned his head slightly out of the open window, hot winds stinging his face as he squinted at the mountains of red sand. It was as if he had found himself on another planet, strange and beautiful, and he was reminded of all the old episodes of Star Trek he used to watch with Nori before he disappeared…

He was startled from his thoughts when a boot nudged against his shin. At first he thought it was just someone shuffling, trying in vain to find a comfortable position, but then Fergusson coughed and held his canteen out towards him with a knowing smile. Ori took it with an appreciative nod. The metal of the canteen was warm to the touch and the water even warmer, but it still helped to wash away some of the scratchy desert in his throat.

“What about you then, young Rison? Have you got a missus back home?”

Ori had been aware of some conversation going on in the back of the Rover, but was now pulled into it with a jolt as images of Bridget flashed through his mind. The rest of the unit were grinning at him expectantly.

But, before he could reply, Smithy chipped in with: “I’m not sure Rison even knows where to put it.”

Ori rolled his eyes: as the youngest member of their team, he was used to the joshing, but he had learnt to either ignore it or play along, knowing the lads meant no real harm.

“Well, I didn’t hear your mum complaining last night, Smithy,” Fergusson said, giving the corporal a well-aimed kick as everyone laughed and cheered – even the sergeant had turned to eye him with a smirk.

“Stop spoiling the fun, Ferg,” Smithy said. “Just because you’re smitten as anything, you lucky bastard!”

A softer expression appeared on Fergusson’s face. He’d proposed to his girlfriend of seven years during their last leave and was now part of a flurry of long-distance wedding planning.

“Did you hear from Kate last week?” he asked, knowing letters had been handed out when they stopped over in Kabul.

“Yeah, she sent me some photos of venues, table decorations, flowers, stuff like that,” he replied fondly. “She knows I wouldn’t mind if we got married in a shack in the Helmand Province, but I think she just wants to keep me in the loop.”

Ori nodded, taking another gulp of tepid water before handing the canteen back over.

“She did send me a photo of Evie in her new school uniform, ready for September.” Fergusson slipped a hand into his jacket and pulled a polaroid from the inside pocket, holding it out to Ori. “Kate says she keeps putting it on and asking if she can go to ‘big school’ yet.”

Fergusson’s four-year-old daughter beamed up at him for the photo, blonde hair and green eyes, just like her father, and she did seem very pleased with her new grey dress, primary school logo emblazoned on the front of it as well as her red cardigan.

“It won’t be long till you see her again,” Ori said quietly, seeing the pang of separation in Fergusson’s eyes that lingered on the photo. “I bet she’s really excited for the wed –”

The Land Rover shuddered and came to a stop. Everyone looked around in confusion, but the desert was silent except for the wind spitting sand through the open windows.

“Why’ve we stopped?” Smithy asked, eyebrow raised as he turned to look at the truck in front that was leading their convoy.

“Sergeant?” Fergusson said, sitting up straight, his voice tight.

“Sit tight, lads,” came the sergeant’s answer as he opened his door and jumped down from the front seat.

Ori watched the sergeant making his way towards the truck, a horrible feeling twisting inside his gut, his thumb slipping over the photo of Fergusson’s daughter. Something wasn’t right. Something was –

That was when the first explosion hit. There was one, long shrill note ringing in their ears as the sergeant was swallowed by flames and the truck reared up like a demon from Hell, flying straight towards them and –

The world spun above Ori as his knees slammed into the cold linoleum floor. 

His entire body was on fire and he cried out as he ripped the jumper and pyjama top over his head, certain he had scraped half his skin off with them. He threw them away into the corner of the white room and hunched forward, sweaty hands slipping against the pale tiles. The desert was in his throat, in his lungs, choking him from the inside out and his breaths came in gurgling bursts. He was sure he was going to cough up sand, cough up tepid water.

Collapsing onto his side, his scarred arm flared up in protest, the burns feeling blistering and raw, as if the nightmare had cut open the skin, fanning the flames back to life. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ori felt the water running down his face, dangling from his snotty nostrils and stinging his lips. He let out a whimper, that turned into a sob. He might barely be able to speak, but he could still cry… he could still scream.

Curling into himself, Ori’s fingers brushed against something on the floor at his side. He dared to open his eyes and immediately wished he hadn’t. Evie Fergusson was staring up at him, face almost obscured by the black scorch marks. Her father had kicked open the door of the Land Rover and pushed Ori out before the second explosion hit. Sucking in a shuddering breath, Ori reached shaking fingers out for the photo, but they scraped along the cool linoleum instead. He tried again, pawing and pawing at the photo, letting out a cry of frustration, but then he blinked, and the photo was gone.

Pushing his knees into his chest, pushing hard against the part that hurt, Ori looked towards the door of his room, left half-open, the corridor beyond empty and filled with sterilised light. Someone would come in soon, put him back to bed, stick a needle in his arm and tell him everything was okay and that he was safe. He wasn’t sure he could bear it. Why would no one here just admit that life was fucking awful and that safe didn’t mean happy? Safe didn’t mean sane? Well, the staff might not understand, but Bilbo and Bifur certainly did.

Ori slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, wincing as his injured arm protested and his head filled with sparks. Bilbo’s room was by the nurses’ station, so there was no way he’d be able to sneak in to see him without being noticed. Equally, there was something a little odd about Bilbo. Ori would never dare mention it to anyone, but there was something about the intelligence officer that unnerved him… Bilbo was his friend, he was helping him far more than Dr. Grey and Dr. Norman were at this point, but Ori had spent his life around people who kept secrets and he knew someone who was hiding something when he saw them.

Grabbing onto the side of the bed, Ori pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. The digital clock on his bedside table told him it was three o’ clock in the morning and therefore the room was understandably chilly, but he couldn’t bear to put his jumper and pyjama top back on, couldn’t bear to feel the fire against his skin again. Instead, he wrapped his arms around himself, using his right hand to guide his left arm into position against his stomach. He waited a few moments, trying to draw in enough breath for the journey, sniffling and snorting against the blockage in his nostrils with little effect.

The corridor was deserted as Ori stepped from his room. He kept close to the wall, hunched into himself and trying not to splutter as his lungs let him know just how pissed off they were at his jolting movements. It seemed to take an age, but finally, with shuffling steps, he found himself in Bifur’s doorway.

The old soldier was fast asleep in bed, blankets wrapped around him in a pale blue cocoon. Ori all but stumbled into the room, feeling his throat close up and his vision blur. The guilt stirred in the pit of his already unsettled stomach, knowing he shouldn’t be disturbing Bifur at this hour… but the need for comfort overrode everything that told him to back away.

“B… B… Bi…” Ori tried to form his name, but his brain was sparking with static and his tongue was a burning carcass inside his mouth. “Bi… B…”

The tears prickled at his eyes as he let out a choked cry, feeling worse than pathetic. He couldn’t even say Bifur’s name, how was he supposed to ask for help? He coughed again, feeling the sand scratching inside his lungs, wishing everything was different, wishing he wasn’t even here at all.

Bifur stirred then, stretching out and rubbing his eyes with a soft yawn. He blinked around the room for a moment, then started when his eyes fell on the lonely figure of Ori, shaking at the foot of his bed. At first Ori thought he had frightened him, had sent his mind elsewhere, but then Bifur sat up and slowly untangled the sheets from his legs. Slipping from the bed, he approached Ori with caution, keeping a safe distance between them as he raised his hands to sign, asking him what was wrong.

“I… I…” Ori tried, between pants, as the panic loomed large again.

But then Bifur made gentle shushing sounds and moved closer to him, his hands held out, each step deliberate to make him appear as unthreatening as possible. Ori couldn’t move: he just watched his friend with a miserable expression as he drew in a short, barely there breath. Bifur reached out then, both his hands hovering near Ori’s, showing him what he wanted to do, but still asking for his permission. When he made no sound of dissent, Bifur carefully took his hands and lifted them up between them, stroking his thumbs over his knuckles. The heat from his hands wasn’t the fire Ori had been expecting, instead it was soothing, anchoring.

Bifur continued to make soft, reassuring sounds, then drew in a deep breath that pushed his shoulders back as he puffed his chest out beneath his green flannel pyjamas. It was only when he repeated the motion that Ori realised he wanted him to copy. Fingers twitching in Bifur’s hands, Ori tried it – unsuccessfully at first – but after a few attempts he was breathing easier through his mouth, although his nose remained blocked and his throat barbed.

Pleased with his efforts, Bifur gave him an encouraging smile and then stepped back towards his bed, hands tugging Ori with him. Ori allowed himself to be guided, then when Bifur dropped his hands, he lifted himself up onto the bed. Hunching forward, he let the world correct itself as he let out a pant, but then Bifur was in front of him, making a clear show of pulling some tissues out of the box on his bedside table. He held the tissues up to his own nose, demonstrating his intentions, and Ori managed a nod.

It was as if he were a child again, but Ori found he didn’t quite have the strength to care as Bifur gently placed the tissues over his nose and he gave several snorting blows as he cleared all the horrible snot from his nostrils. Being able to breathe through his nose again definitely helped ease the tightness in his chest and he reached up his good hand to sign ‘thank you’ as Bifur used fresh tissues to wipe his eyes and his face.

Returning his own signs, which Ori didn’t quite catch, Bifur poured some water from the jug beside them into a plastic cup and held it out to him. Ori hesitated as pain stabbed into his stomach – _canteen, desert, warm water, Fergusson, fire, canteen, warm water, Fergusson_ – and Bifur looked unsure, holding the water away again as he tried to understand the problem. But Ori swallowed, the saliva barely touching the wire in his throat, then held his hand out for the water. It was a small step, but still it felt like a victory as Bifur helped him lift the cup to his lips and take a few gulps of cool water.

A shudder suddenly passed over Ori’s body as he wrapped his good arm across his chest. He was feeling the early morning cold now and looking down he saw the skin on his chest and arms had started to pimple. None of this had gone unnoticed by Bifur and, for one horrible moment, Ori thought he was going to leave him to go and fetch his jumper… but then the older man simply retrieved his favourite tawny dressing gown from the hook by his bed.

Ori flinched, recoiling as instinct told him to avoid the heat, avoid the contact to the burns on his arm, lest he be swallowed by the flames again. Yet, nothing happened when Bifur very carefully pressed the fluffy fabric of one sleeve to the back of his hand, as if reassuring him of its benignity. The dressing gown was warm and soft, and Ori was shaking and cold, and so, after a few moments’ pause, he nodded and let Bifur guide his arms into each sleeve before lifting it over his shoulders. There was no burning heat, no scraping against his skin: the dressing gown smelled like Bifur’s room and that meant comfort.

Seeing that his dressing gown had been well-received, Bifur reached forward and wrapped it further around Ori’s body, careful to keep it still hanging loose. He tied the fabric cord at his waist too for good measure, although he left it at a single knot, making sure he had plenty of room to breathe.

Ori signed another thank you, unable to catch himself before he let out a yawn. Bifur only smiled, then urged him to lay down in the bed, repeatedly signing ‘okay’ to let the teenager know he was happy to hand it over for the rest of the night. Bed sheets were drawn up and over him, then Bifur pulled up his favourite chair at the bedside, showing he had no intention of leaving Ori alone. He started humming and gave Ori’s feathery hair a few soft strokes, before sitting back in the chair.

Eyes drooping, Ori was only vaguely aware when Rosie appeared in the room and pressed her fingers to his neck. He watched with glazed eyes as she signed with Bifur, before leaving them alone again. His hand crawled out from beneath the blankets and the old soldier took it, continuing to hum as Ori finally drifted off into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

 

…

 

**September, 2014**

_“I mean, we were speaking to the brothers of that wee lad, the one who’s been pally with Bilbo for ages… and you know he hasn’t said one word since it happened?”_

“… And make sure you thank Dori for lending them to me,” Bilbo said, smiling as he slid the books across the bed. “Crutwell’s work really has been very enlightening.”

Ori ran his fingers over the faded cover of _The Role of Strategy in the Great War_. “You c-c-could k-keep them… for l-longer… i-if you w-want…?”

An expression he couldn’t place passed over Bilbo’s features before his smile returned. “No, no, I couldn’t do that – I’ve given them both a good read-through, and they belonged to your grandfather, it’s only right that Dori have them back now.”

Nodding, Ori slipped the books onto his bedside table so he wouldn’t forget to give them back to Dori when he visited tomorrow. “D-D-Dori isn’t v-visiting t-today,” he explained. “B-but I’ll… p-pass on your th-thank yous…  t-t-tomorrow.”

“So you’re seeing Nori today then?” Bilbo asked, with a grin. “What exciting things has he got planned for you?”

“W-we’re w-watching…” Ori swallowed, trying to form the words carefully. “Star Trek.”

“God, that takes me back,” Bilbo said wistfully. “My housemates and I used to watch Next Generation re-runs at five in the morning when we got back from The Nightingale.”

“Y-you c-c-can join us… i-if you w-want?” Ori offered. “You and Th-Thorin?”

The flicker passed over Bilbo’s face again and it made Ori’s stomach scrunch in on itself.

“A very kind offer, Ori, but we wouldn’t want to intrude.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Now, I’m afraid I have some reading to do.”

Ori was a little surprised by Bilbo’s visit ending so abruptly – he’d barely been in the room five minutes – but he supposed everything about the visit was quite odd. Bilbo rarely left his room before ten and they usually met up in Bifur’s room.

“Of c-c-course,” Ori said, trying to keep his expression neutral.

Bilbo rose from the bed and moved towards the door, before pausing. He turned back to Ori with a gentle smile. “I’m really pleased you have Nori back in your life… and that things are going okay with Dori too.”

Ori opened his mouth, but shut it again, unsure what to make of this kind, but unexpected comment. Bilbo seemed to become aware of his own seriousness and then he smiled again, lifting his hand into a Vulcan salute. Slightly baffled, Ori found himself doing the same – he was so used to signing with Bilbo and Bifur that this hand gesture came almost naturally.

Without another word, Bilbo slipped from the room and Ori heard his step down the corridor, but then it stopped short, indicating that he had gone into Bifur’s room. Hopefully this meant he would share what was really bothering him with someone. Ori knew Bilbo’s separation from Thorin had been taking its toll over the summer, but he had done his best to keep his friend’s spirits up. He was sure he had cheered him up last night when he’d beaten him at chess for the first time since they’d started playing. Ori did have a sneaking suspicion that Bilbo had let him win, but wasn’t sure what the motivation behind that was, why pick last night when they had been playing on and off for almost a year?

The rest of Ori’s morning passed by in much the same way his mornings usually did. He chatted with Rosie whilst she completed his obs, ate an enormous fruit scone with Poppy whilst he showed her his latest sketches, then got out his flashcards – that contained a lot more words than they did at the beginning of the year – and did some practice ready for his session with Dr. Norman.

It was approaching eleven o’ clock when Ori heard a frantic thud of footsteps and raised voices, sounding from somewhere else on the ward. Peering out of his room, he found the corridor empty. He was heading to Bifur’s room when the old soldier himself appeared in front of him.

‘What’s going on?’ Ori signed, and Bifur returned his confusion, looking unsettled. Ori knew that someone was probably having an attack and it wouldn’t be a good idea for him to witness it, but something was keeping him out in the corridor, tugging at him and trying to draw him closer to the centre of the ward like some horrible form of gravity.

Before he knew what he was doing, Ori found himself walking down the corridor, Bifur close behind him. The shouting continued, followed by frantic sounds of movement, screeches of trainers against the linoleum, the rattle of a gurney… and then a scream. A long, low wail filled the space, before being shut out like a door had closed on it.

Already shaking and feeling as if he was about to throw up, Ori forced himself to round the corner and froze.

Bilbo was being wheeled into the lift.

Bilbo with a mask pressed over his white face and blood soaking his arms.

The shrill ringing was back: that one, long note filling his ears so he could hear nothing else. The desert exploded inside his lungs as he began to scream. Nurses ran at him from all angles and arms closed around him as he lurched forward.

“BILBO!”

His lips formed the name, but he couldn’t hear his own voice, couldn’t hear anything but the ringing. He cried and cried for Bilbo until he couldn’t form words anymore, until his tongue shrivelled inside his mouth, until he knew words would never come again… there were no words for this, there would never be words for this, and so Ori fell silent.

 

…

 

“I still don’t understand why he can’t see Dr. Norman this afternoon.”

“Christ, Dori, will you give it a rest? She’s on a conference or some shit, it’s not like we can shove him into the back of your car and drive him up to Newcastle, is it?”

“But Dr. Grey hasn’t answered my questions about a Skype call. At least that way we’ll be able to know if… this, is because he _can’t_ speak or because he _won’t_.”

“Fucking hell, if my friend had tried to off themselves I wouldn’t feel like talking much either… Definitely wouldn’t feel like talking to you.”

And on and on and on it went. Ori pulled the blankets up under his chin as he listened to his brothers arguing about him as if he wasn’t right there in the bed between them. It was the first time in three months that he hadn’t got dressed, but there seemed very little point in changing out of his pyjamas when he intended to stay in bed all day. Bifur had been sitting with him, but then his cousins had arrived and they’d all gone to his room instead.

“Ori… Ori, please… just say something…”

Dori was pleading with him again and he couldn’t bear it. He rolled away from him onto his side, pulling the covers up over his head so he could just about see Nori sitting at his bedside.

“That’s it, I’m going to find Dr. Grey!”

“Yep, you do that, and pick me up a coffee and a packet of prawn cocktail crisps on your travels, would you?”

Ori didn’t hear Dori’s furious response as he strode purposefully from the room. He pulled his knees up into his chest and blinked rapidly as his eyes began to sting.

“Sorry about that, kid,” Nori said, his tone suddenly very gentle, no venom left now their brother was gone. “If you don’t wanna talk, that’s absolutely fine by me.”

Ori was relieved that Nori seemed to understand enough to leave him be. His brother reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“You warm enough?”

Ori nodded, pulling the blankets underneath his chin.

“Look, Ori… I promise I’m not gonna force you to speak… But is there anything I can do? I know this is a really shitty situation for you… but if there’s something you need… something I can get for you…”

Dismissing the idea of gesturing for his pad – he wasn’t sure he had the energy to write – Ori pulled the blankets down and lifted a finger to his forehead, repeatedly signing Bifur’s name. Nori raised an eyebrow, seeming very confused at first, but then there was a spark of recognition in his eyes.

“Bifur?” he asked. “I think he’s with his family at the moment, mate…”

Ori dragged the blankets back around himself, pushing his knees into his chest again.

“But I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t go and join them, eh?” Nori continued, seeing the defeat in his younger brother’s eyes. “You feel up to getting out of bed?”

With a nod of affirmation, Ori slowly loosened his blanket cocoon and let Nori help him into his slippers and a dressing gown. They travelled in silence down the corridor, Nori’s arm firmly around his shoulders the whole way. He couldn’t hear much noise from Bifur’s room, but he supposed that was to be expected if everyone was signing.

“Mind if we join you?” Nori said, by ways of introduction as they appeared in the doorway.

Bifur was sitting up in bed with a cousin at either side, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. But smiles appeared at Nori’s request and they were waved inside.

“O’ course,” Bofur said, getting up to fetch an extra chair. He turned sad, reddened eyes on Ori. “You settle yourself in next to Bif.”

Bofur knew without a word passing between them that he and Bifur needed more proximity than a chair at a bedside could offer and no one commented as he tucked himself into the old soldier’s side. Bifur, too, had been expecting it and wrapped an arm around his back. Nori took a seat next to Bofur and a glum silence settled over the room. It was as if they were gathered at a wake and no one seemed to be able to find a way to shake the feeling.

It was Bifur who signed first, lifting his free hand to run his thumb and forefinger down his cheeks. Bofur and Bombur signed back before looking to Nori.

“He’s asking about Thorin… if there’s any more news,” Bombur explained quietly.

“We met his cousins, those two Scottish blokes, when we signed in today,” Nori replied. “I could go and see if I can find them… Find out how… well, how Thorin’s holding up?”

There was a murmur of agreement, then Nori put a hand on Ori’s arm.

“That okay, kid? If I leave you here while I go check on Thorin…?”

Ori closed his eyes as he nodded, hearing Nori’s chair scrape against the floor, and the desert was growing back inside his throat. He knew Thorin had been found miles and miles away at his niece’s school, that he’d been in such a bad state he’d had to be readmitted to the ward… and he knew he was suffering more than all of them.

When Thorin was discharged back in July, Ori had promised he would look after Bilbo for him. He hadn’t been able to keep his promise. The guilt cut at his insides like sand scratching over glass and he felt utterly lost. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. He had no idea how to put this right.

 

…

 

The news that Thorin had finally gone in to see Bilbo made Ori smile for the first time in four days. Overnight, lost in strange and beautiful dreams, he felt his tongue grow back like a lost limb, flowering inside his mouth, full to bursting with the words he thought he’d given up forever. The next morning he got dressed for the first time in four days and made his way towards the dayroom corridor and Thorin’s short-stay room. He had some things he needed to say.

 

* * *

 

 

_Ms. Dis Oakenshield requests the honour of your presence_

_at the marriage of her brother_

 

_Cpt. Thorin Oakenshield_

_to_

_Dr. Bilbo Baggins_

 

_at 11 o' clock in the morning on Saturday 18th April_

  _Tuckborough Castle & Spa_

_ North Yorkshire _


	12. April, 2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Well, here we are at the long-awaited wedding. I’ve planned it to the very last detail, and by that I mean I’ve filled eight pages of my drafting notebook with bullet-pointed lists and coloured sketches and annotations and diagrams. I am seriously considering quitting teaching to become a wedding planner! 
> 
> You are all very welcome guests at this wonderful event, which has been three and a half years in the making, and I can’t thank you all enough for sticking with me and this ‘verse through all its twists and turns. I wouldn’t have been able to reach this point in Thorin and Bilbo’s story without you :)

With a crunch of gravel, the silver Mercedes came to a stop at the foot of the stone steps. Thorin had been keeping his gaze fixed firmly to his left, staring out from his seat in the back of the car, wedged as he was between his best man and his maid of honour. But now he dared to glance through the windshield to confirm that, yes, their car’s equally sleek brother was parked on the gravel in front of them, which meant Bilbo had arrived as planned, just a few minutes ahead of their own schedule.  

Beginning to fidget and rub at his knuckles, Thorin stopped when his niece put a gentle hand on his wrist, eyeing him with a knowing but sympathetic smile.

“You didn’t really think he was going to do a runner, did you?”

Thorin coughed, untangling the fingers that he’d meshed together. “The windows are tinted, he might not actually be in there.”

“Oh, the lad’ll be in there alright,” Dwalin said, the gruffness in his voice softened by the light in his eyes. “After the amount of fuss you two put up this mornin’, he’ll be in there.”

Thorin allowed himself to smile at that. He and Bilbo had spent the night before their wedding together in their little cottage, rising early through excitement and nerves. The quiet dawn had found them wrapped around each other, deciding to bring the tradition of the wedding night forward a fair few hours. And then their family and friends had turned up to get everyone ready: Bilbo’s party had set up in the cottage and Dis had come to collect her brother so his own party could assemble in Chapel Allerton. Thorin didn’t think either he or Bilbo had made much of a fuss, but looking back, it had taken rather a long time to get him through the door and into Dis’ car.

Fili suddenly made a noise in the back of her throat as she thrust her small bouquet into her uncle’s hands and reached up to adjust the white rose that was pinned in her blonde hair. “I wish you two could’ve waited a little longer for me to grow my hair out properly, then this bloody rose wouldn’t be giving me so much grief!”

The pixie undercut had been replaced with more of a sheer, asymmetrical bob, but still Fili seemed to be having trouble getting the hairpiece to sit right.

“You could just take it out…?” Thorin offered. “Bilbo and I really won’t mind.”

“No, no, no, no, your maids of honour have to match,” Fili replied, lowering her hands and collecting her bouquet of smaller roses. “Rosie’s just the sensible one with more hair.”

Thorin’s eyes flickered back to the car in front. Bilbo would be sitting inside with his wedding party, which was comprised of: Rosie, his maid of honour, Drogo, his best man, three-year-old Elanor, Rosie and Sam’s daughter and Thorin and Bilbo’s goddaughter, who was very excited about her role as flower girl, and their six-year-old godson, Frodo, who was also thrilled to be their page boy.

Fili reached out and carefully straightened the white rose on her uncle’s lapel. For all Bilbo’s green fingers were legendary, they had decided to keep it simple where flowers were concerned. They had chosen white roses: a traditional symbol of new beginnings, but also, and very appropriately, the emblem of Yorkshire. Bilbo had teased Thorin a little over this particular meaning, but insisted he didn’t mind his status as a southern defector. Each member of the wedding party either had a rose in their lapel or fixed into their hair. Fili and Rosie had small bouquets tied with dark blue ribbon and the Old Dining Room, where the ceremony was being held, had a few tasteful, understated arrangements in its nooks and crannies. Samwise Gamgee had wanted to transport the flowers himself up from Bristol, but in the end, it was decided that using Sam’s florist contacts in the Leeds area would probably be a wiser decision.

“At least you’re lookin’ a little less peaky than last Sunday,” Dwalin grinned, giving his cousin a good-natured nudge in the ribs.

“You’re one to talk, Dwal,” Thorin replied, with a smirk. “Has David forgiven you for throwing up in his car yet?”

“Oi, I dinnae whitey in the car,” Dwalin protested, his accent only growing thicker. “I opened the window an’ chucked onto the pavement instead.”

“Okay, can we please stop talking about Uncle’s stag do? It’s actually making me nauseous just thinking about it,” Fili said, her fingers going to her temple.

Thorin and Bilbo had opted for separate stag nights, which took place a week apart. The thinking behind this was that they’d be there to take care of each other and put the drunken or, in Bilbo's case, simply exhausted party to bed. They’d also be around to help with their recovery the following day. Equally, this meant that a handful of family and friends were able to attend both nights.

Thorin’s stag do had taken place last weekend. After listening dutifully to Bilbo’s warning about tying his fiancé to a lamppost or bringing him back home in a supermarket trolley, Dwalin had whisked Thorin away for the best pub crawl Leeds had to offer. Although Thorin had vetoed Fili’s suggestion of customised t-shirts, he had agreed to wear a ridiculous pair of antlers for at least three rounds. Their party had made it to seven out of the nine pubs Dwalin had planned, the night filled with the raucous singing and laughter expected from such occasions, and Kili, only recently turned eighteen and thus ready to fully embrace legal drinking, had certainly been the life and soul of the evening.

As was also to be expected from such occasions, Thorin had got absolutely hammered and therefore had no memory of him and Dain being dropped back home by Dis’ partner, David, or, in fact, any memory of the last hour of his stag do. David assured him the next day that he’d been no bother and that driving a positively wasted Dwalin, Fili, and Kili back to Chapel Allerton whilst they sang rounds of ‘Thorin’s getting married in the morning’ was far more exasperating. Thorin was surprised to learn from Bilbo that this had not been a repeat of his fortieth birthday party and instead of being touchy-feely and unable to shut up, he had been so drunk that he was very quiet and amenable as Bilbo undressed him, bathed him, and put him to bed. He had, however, spent the next two days apologising every twenty minutes as his soon-to-be husband nursed him through the world’s most horrific hangover.

Although Bilbo's medication meant he had to refrain from getting shit-faced on his own stag do, the night was no less eventful. They had all gathered in a bar called Dove for its famous Saturday night Drag Show. Fili had made the presenting queens aware of the stag party’s presence and so there had apparently been a lot of banter from the stage.

_“And who’s the blonde bitch next to you…? No, no, not the dog, the one with the killer heels.”_

_“And where is your fiancé this evening?”_

_“Probably at home watching the Arsenal game.”_

_“Right… and does his wife know you’re marrying him?”_

Thorin had also been rather mortified to hear that a photo of them both, taken shortly after they got engaged, had been projected onto the stage’s screen and the queens had ended with: “Well, half of us wish you all the very best, and the other half are hoping it doesn’t work out so we can climb that like a tree.” Thorin suspected this particular line might work its way into Fili’s maid of honour speech at the reception.

The party had moved on from Dove to Oslo, an LGBT nightclub on the outskirts of Leeds, where they had danced until the early hours of the morning. Bilbo and Sting were returned home by Rosie, who had very selflessly offered herself as designated driver. Bilbo had been beyond exhausted and fallen asleep fully-clothed whilst Thorin dutifully picked the confetti stars off his shirt and tried his best to comb the glitter from his curls. Dis had driven her children home, Fili faring better than Kili this time, and it transpired that her son was still finding phone numbers in his pockets.

Thorin was jolted back to the present when the door of the silver Mercedes in front was suddenly thrown open and Rosie stepped out, careful not to catch her long, sleeveless midnight blue bridesmaid’s dress on anything as she straightened up, the beautifully draped fabric rearranging itself around her as she stepped back. As Fili predicted, the white rose sat perfectly on her curly, auburn hair, which was pulled back into an elaborate bun. With one hand holding her bouquet, she reached out with the other to help her daughter out of the car. Elanor was wearing a pale blue tulle dress with a dark blue sash tied round her middle and a crown of white roses sat on her sandy curls: she was the spitting image of both her mother and her father. She inspected her tiny wicker basket filled with rose petals whilst Rosie fussed over her dress. The second car door opened and Drogo appeared, followed quickly by Frodo, both wearing the groomsmen’s black suits with white shirts, midnight blue waistcoats and pale blue cravats.

Bilbo’s voice could be heard then and Thorin quickly looked away, out across Tuckborough Castle’s sprawling grounds, as his heart began thumping inside his chest. He wasn’t sure why, but he had decided he didn’t want to see Bilbo until he was walking down the aisle of the Old Dining Room. It did seem a little ridiculous, considering he and Bilbo were wearing matching black suits with the inverse colours of their groomsmen: light blue waistcoats and darker cravats. However, he hadn’t actually seen Bilbo in his suit yet and he wanted that moment to be special.

“He’s here, Uncle,” Fili said gently, her hand brushing his wrist again. “Just wait until you see him.”

Voices filled the air as Bilbo’s party came together on the gravel, but then their footsteps retreated up the stone staircase as they made their way to the ceremony’s venue, where all their guests were already gathered. Kili and Balin, the other members of Thorin’s party, were the day’s ushers and would be waiting for him at the front of the room when he arrived. Dis had been offered the role of bridesmaid, but had insisted she was ‘too old’ for that sort of thing. She had, however, decided to follow the wedding party’s colour scheme and purchased a dark blue satin dress and fairly extravagant fascinator, so everyone would know she was still quite important.

Dwalin and Balin were wearing traditional kilts made from their family’s tartan, which just so happened to be blue and green. When Fili had dared to mention that Dwalin’s skirt was shorter than hers, he had got her in a headlock and Dis had squawked at him for almost ripping Fili’s dress. She had then gone into full teacher-mode and reprimanded them as if they were a couple of unruly students.

“Uncle, just turn this way for a sec,” Fili said, still using a soft, measured tone which suggested she knew just how nervous Thorin was becoming. “Your cravat’s a bit skew-whiff.”

Thorin obediently turned himself so his niece could straighten his dark blue cravat, which she did with great care. Watching Fili do this for him, his stomach suddenly tightened when, as if from nowhere, the memory of the first time she had stepped foot in his room at Ered Luin surfaced. _“Uncle… I’m Fili, your niece.”_ That had been six years ago, almost to the day in fact, as he and Bilbo had chosen April for the date of their wedding to mark the moment of their first meeting outside Bilbo’s hospital room. There was still much of the seventeen-year-old in this twenty-three-year-old Fili and Thorin felt his eyes prickle as he murmured his ‘thank you’.

“No problem,” Fili said, her voice definitely cracking. “Can’t have you walking down the aisle with a dodgy cravat.”

“Fili…” Thorin whispered, his niece’s shining eyes only making his vision blur further.

“I can’t help it, Dwalin’s set me off,” Fili replied, and Thorin quickly turned to look at Dwalin next to him, who was indeed sporting red and watery eyes. 

“Damn it, Dwal, you’ve set us all off!” Thorin said, although it was with a laugh as he accepted a tissue from Fili.

“Ach, I know, I’m soft as anythin’… Just really happy for you, lad, that’s all.”

The car fell into silence as everyone wiped away their respective tears. Thorin focused on slowing down his breathing as his heart continued its drumming against his ribs. The only sounds were the birds’ musical chirping in the surrounding trees and Dain’s quiet panting from his place in the open boot. The moment felt completely surreal, like he couldn’t believe the wedding was actually happening, that he was finally marrying the love of his life. And now, as was always the case with the important moments in his life, Thorin sincerely hoped he wouldn’t do anything to fuck it up. The thought made him flex his fingers in his lap, but then the image of Bilbo, waiting for him in the Old Dining Room, helped him exhale carefully as giddy feelings began stirring in his chest.

Everyone suddenly looked up when a woman in black suit trousers and top appeared, her heels clicking on the steps as she came to greet them. She moved around the car to the door on Thorin’s side and opened it with a bright smile.

“Good morning, Captain Oakenshield,” she said, formal but cheery, and extended her hand. “I’m Sara and I’ll be coordinating your wedding ceremony today.”

Thorin was surprised to see that Sara actually had a thin wire headset and some kind of radio attached to her belt. However, he knew he shouldn’t be shocked that parts of his wedding were going to be playing out like a military operation: the months of planning had certainly felt that way. He stepped from the car, Fili and Dwalin sliding out the other side, and smoothed down the front of his waistcoat. The boot was opened and Dain hopped down, looking very handsome in his dark blue bow tie. Bilbo had tried to convince him to let Dain and Sting wear custom-made waistcoats so they would match the wedding party, but Thorin had remained firm that he wouldn’t put their assistance dogs through that. He scratched Dain’s ears and Dain nudged and licked at his hands, clearly wanting to let him know that today was going to be perfect.

“Now, I just need to mic you up,” Sara explained, producing a small black box and microphone from her trouser pocket.

Thorin’s eyes widened. “… Mic? You’re… you’re putting a microphone on me?”

Sarah paused for a moment. “Yes, I’m so sorry, I thought you knew… The acoustics in the Old Dining Room aren’t wonderful and I’m sure you’ll want everybody to be able to hear your vows.”

“Right,” Thorin said, swallowing thickly. “Of course.”

“You just need to flick this little switch to turn it on and to pop it back off for the rest of the ceremony,” Sara said, demonstrating as she held out the mic.

I’m so glad any mistakes I make are going to be projected loud and clear to the whole room, Thorin thought, with a quickening of his heart, but then Fili was at his side.

“Let me get this sorted for you, Uncle,” she said calmly, and Thorin let her hook the box onto his belt and clip the small microphone onto his lapel. “Have you got your vows?” she added, in no more than a whisper.

Thorin reached his hand into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, confirming that the folded piece of paper was still sitting there, ready and waiting. It had taken him a very, very long time to figure out what he was going to say to Bilbo, but once a draft had been started, he had spent any spare moment when he found himself alone in their cottage reciting his notes to Dain, who proved to be a non-judgemental and encouraging listener, until they started to sound like something worthy of his and Bilbo’s wedding day.

“And have you got the ring, Mr. Fundinson?” Sara asked, smiling at Dwalin.

Dwalin tapped his breast pocket. “Aye, it’s there.”

Dwalin had been left in charge of the ring Thorin would be slipping onto Bilbo’s finger and, in turn, Drogo was responsible for the ring Bilbo would be presenting to Thorin.

“Okay, shall we make our way to the Old Dining Room?” Sara said, gesturing up the stairs.

Fili and Dwalin looked to Thorin, and after a moment’s pause, he nodded. It was time.

Sara led the way into the grand foyer, with Thorin following, and Fili and Dwalin close behind. It had taken Thorin and Bilbo a good month or so to narrow down their choices of venue, but in the end they had settled on Tuckborough Castle, which was nestled in the beautiful moorland of North Yorkshire. A place rich with history seemed very appropriate for their wedding, and the castle itself was almost a thousand years old, having been mentioned in the Domesday book of 1086. It had been the family seat of the Vavasours since Norman times and for the past millennia had weathered every conflict and storm, both literal and metaphorical, that the world had to throw at it. Thorin liked that he and Bilbo were getting married in a place that was the epitome of endurance and strength, and he certainly hoped that this boded well for their future together.

The walls of the castle were lined with vibrant tapestries, their colours not faded by age and decay, and Thorin was sure they passed the odd suit of armour as they travelled up the staircase and along a corridor, drawing closer to their destination. Sara brought them to a stop before they reached a set of double doors made from dark, heavy wood and brought one hand up to the headset in her ear.

“Team Oakenshield now approaching… Is Little Bunny in position?”

Thorin almost choked and quickly covered his mouth with a hand. _Team Oakenshield? Little Bunny?_ He turned to find Fili grinning at him.

“Bilbo and I thought it’d be cool if we all had codenames,” she shrugged.

“Right, Miss Oakenshield, can we have you first?” Sara said, indicating a spot just in front of the doors.

Fili moved into position, untangling the bottom of her dark blue dress from her heel and checking the white rose in her hair was still in place. “So if I fall over, just step over me, okay, Uncle?”

“And now can we have Captain Oakenshield, Dain, and Mr. Fundinson five paces behind?”

Sara showed them where she wanted them to stand and Dwalin bumped his arm against Thorin’s with a small smile. Thorin tightened his fingers around Dain’s lead in one hand and the grey, black-banded top hat in the other.

“Proud to be walkin’ you down the aisle at last, Thorin,” Dwalin murmured.

Thorin didn’t dare turn to his cousin for fear of tearing up again, but still he replied with a quiet: “Thanks, Dwal.”

“Are we ready?” Sara asked, one finger on her ear.

Thorin nodded, Sara spoke into her headset, and then the double doors before them were opened by unseen hands, revealing the Old Dining Room, with its large windows and ornately crafted ceiling. Music filled the room and Bifur’s younger cousin, Bofur, continued his smooth and uncanny rendition of Nat King Cole’s ‘L-O-V-E’, which he had started when Bilbo walked down the aisle with his wedding party. 

Fili led the way, cutting a stunning silhouette as the sunlight hit her, and then Thorin felt his heart still inside his chest when he finally saw Bilbo. The guests were on their feet either side of the aisle, but Thorin could look nowhere else but at Bilbo, who was, and always would be, the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Their eyes met and Bilbo’s smile lit up his entire face, his expression one of pure joy and unmistakable love. The green of his eyes was brought out by the blue of his waistcoat and his hair looked golden in the soft morning light. Thorin knew he was the luckiest bastard in the universe for being the one marrying the man standing waiting for him.

The closer he drew to the front of the room, where a table that held the registry was set up ready for them, the more flips his heart executed, growing more and more complicated with every step. He was aware of the sighs and the smiles all around him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Bilbo, who held his gaze with a smile all the way there. The walk down the aisle seemed to take far too long, but finally Thorin found himself standing opposite Bilbo. Fili discreetly took his hat from him, doing a sterling job as maid of honour, and Dain took his own lead into his mouth, sitting down at his partner’s side.

With his hands now free, Thorin reached out to take Bilbo’s hands in both his own. “Hello,” he whispered, his throat feeling a little dry.

“Hello,” Bilbo whispered back, squeezing his hands. “You look beautiful, Thorin.”

“So do you,” Thorin said, leaning a little closer. “You wouldn’t happen to be single, would you?”

“Sorry, I’m actually getting married today.”

“Well, whoever he is, he’s a very lucky man.”

Both of them almost ended up giggling like giddy children as Bofur brought his song to an end and they straightened up with knowing smiles. Reverend Puddifoot, who was going to be officiating their ceremony, moved around the table to stand beside their joined hands. Although neither of them had wanted their wedding to be a religious affair, Thorin and Bilbo couldn’t think of a better person than Ered Luin’s chaplain to preside over the ceremony. She had been a wonderful source of advice and laughter when they had been preparing to be godparents for Frodo and had been on hand to offer support many times since. The reverend had been overjoyed when they asked if she would marry them and now she was certainly beaming as the room fell silent.

“It is with the greatest pleasure I welcome you all to the Old Dining Room at Tuckborough Castle, so that we may all bear witness to the marriage of Thorin and Bilbo,” she said, smile unwavering, as her eyes moved from Thorin and Bilbo, to the guests beyond. “There is so much love in this room at this very moment… Can you feel it? It’s that fuzzy, tingly sort of feeling, that wonderful, sunny, feeling that’s radiating out from you all now, and can most certainly be felt by our grooms who, as you can see, just can’t stop smiling at each other.”

There was a murmur of laughter from everyone and Thorin dipped his head, glancing at Bilbo with a bashful expression.

“I am absolutely certain that everyone joining us here today knows just how much Thorin and Bilbo adore each other – that’s why you’ve all travelled from far and wide to be at this ceremony. And gosh, haven’t some of you travelled? The Gamgees join us from Bristol and Dwalin and Balin have made it down from Edinburgh, despite Balin’s driving…”

Laughter rose up again and Thorin knew Dwalin was probably restraining himself from adding anything to that comment.

“Bill and his family arrived on time from Barnsley and we know what a nightmare the M1 can be… However, I don’t think latecomers have any excuse, as Drogo, Primula, and their son, Frodo, have made it to Yorkshire all the way from New Zealand to witness their cousin marry the love of his life.”

There were more hums of approval and Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s hands.

“When Thorin and Bilbo asked me to officiate their marriage, I honestly couldn’t have been happier… until the moment I was informed that, for the first time in my role as chaplain, I’d be mic’d up for a ceremony, which has exponentially increased my happiness! Can everyone hear me at the back? Wave if you can!”

Reverend Puddifoot received a few waves and shouts, to which she returned a thumbs up.

“Of course, you may all be about to discover that giving me a microphone has been a spectacular mistake.”

There was a pause in which Thorin ran his thumb over Bilbo’s knuckles and shifted his feet slightly. He knew he shouldn’t be impatient, but he did feel he had waited long enough to marry Bilbo and now he found himself quite ready to sign the register and make it official.

“Now, can I please ask you all to ensure your mobile phones are switched to silent…? Alternatively, you can turn their volume up as loud as possible so the culprit will be easy to identify if our grooms are interrupted.”

There was a bit of shuffling as a few guests did actually reach into their bags and their pockets to double-check they weren’t going to be named and shamed, and then all eyes were once again on the front of the room.

“The grooms have written their own vows and wish to share with us their love for one another and what the past six years has meant to them… So tissues at the ready, everyone, I’ll be very disappointed if there’s a dry eye in the room after Thorin and Bilbo are done with us.”

Bilbo gave a low chuckle, but Thorin felt his stomach scrunch up into a tiny ball. This, here, was the moment that he needed to be perfect: perfect for Bilbo and all they had been through together.

“Thorin, if you would like to go first…”

Thorin nodded and reached a slightly trembling hand inside his jacket. He and Bilbo had talked about this at length, deciding that Thorin would be more comfortable going first. He’d regretted saying ‘to get it over and done with’, but luckily Bilbo had only laughed and said he understood what he meant. Thorin hadn’t voiced that he knew his fiancé’s vows would be a tough act to follow, but figured Bilbo probably knew this as well.

Relinquishing Bilbo’s hands for a moment, Thorin unfolded the wad of paper, trying not to notice how loud the scratching sounded in the silent room. He took a moment to breathe in and out, then reached for one of Bilbo’s hands again. He coughed to clear his throat and was about to begin when Fili shuffled forward and flicked his microphone on for him, giving her uncle a quick thumbs up. There were a few titters and Thorin tried not to notice the heat growing in his cheeks. But then Bilbo twined their fingers together and it gave Thorin the strength to say what needed to be said.

“I… I thought about reading a poem for my vows…” he began, his voice trembling slightly. He swallowed, paused, and tried again. “Y-you see… I’m not very good with words… I never have been, which I think puts me at a distinct disadvantage today. So I thought about a poem… or maybe a paragraph of a novel… I even ended up Googling ‘wedding vows’…”

There were definite snorts and smiles at that, and then there was Bilbo, looking at him like he was his favourite person in the whole world, and it spurred him on telling him what he needed to.

“But then I decided that today… today is not the day to use someone else’s words, to use words that have been written for other people. Today I want to use my own words that are written for you, Bilbo, the love of my life.”

The sheets in his hands were shivering, but Thorin felt the love and the determination swelling inside him as he continued.

“When you and I first met, I could barely speak… In fact, I was only just relearning how to breathe. Although I’ll admit, the way you used to look at me sometimes made breathing quite difficult… I’ll also admit that I never thought I’d find myself here, getting married, standing opposite someone who loves me and whom I love in return. When I came to Ered Luin, I’d been alone for a very long time, and I’d just accepted that this was my lot in life… to be alone, married to the Forces, and that was never going to change. I never expected to fall in love and I never e-expected you…”

Thorin heard his voice crack and there was a tell-tale burn in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t dare lift his eyes from the page, for fear of losing his composure completely.

“When you and I first met, I was a broken man… The only relationship I had was a hate-filled one with the scar on the side of my head… But then… but then I realised that the bullet was what brought me to you… and you ran your fingertips over my scar and made me feel a little less broken, made me feel like myself again… Y-you taught me how to be myself… but also taught me how to be something more than the man I was before we met… And I can’t thank you enough for that.”  

Thorin tried to hide his choke, but then his eyes blurred and through the stinging fog he could see Bilbo watching him with wide, watery eyes and he had to take a moment to regain his composure. Blinking back the tears, he tried again.

“I remember the first time I told you I loved you… I’d never said that before, not to anyone… But God, I wanted to say that to you… I just needed you to know that I loved you, to understand what you meant to me…”

Thorin had reached the end of the first page and as he tried to clumsily swap the sheets over, his hands felt heavy and useless. Bilbo reached up to help, but then Thorin lowered the sheets, deciding he knew what he needed to say without them. Realising he was going off-script, Fili silently slipped them from his hand so he could return it to Bilbo’s.

“Bilbo… when I first told you I loved you, I made a vow… I promised to spend the next fifty years of my life with you… I meant it then… and I mean it now. There is no other promise I’d rather keep.”

Inhaling enough breath to ensure he made it to the end, Thorin shifted closer to Bilbo and rubbed his thumbs over his hands. The tears were slowly dribbling down his cheeks, but his vision was clear enough to keep his gaze fixed on Bilbo, who was smiling despite his own tears.

“Bilbo Baggins… You are the cleverest, kindest, bravest, and most beautiful person I’ve ever met… I love you… I love you so much, and there would be no higher honour for me than spending the rest of my life with you.”

Thorin finished with a watery smile, his heart feeling light and full to bursting at the same time, and he and Bilbo leaned in to one another with noises caught between a laugh and a cry. They heard a scatter of clapping from their audience, along with many sighs and ‘ahhhs’, and the distinct sound of noses being blown.

“I hate that I can’t kiss you yet,” Thorin murmured, his forehead lightly pressing against Bilbo’s.

“Me too,” Bilbo replied, in a hushed whisper. “Also, you absolute git, have you any idea how difficult it is to follow that?”

Thorin couldn’t help but snigger, feeling a little dizzy from both the relief of having got through his vows and the euphoria of being one step closer to marrying Bilbo.

“Gosh, Thorin, I think you’ve got us all going there,” Reverend Puddifoot said, dabbing her eyes as Thorin and Bilbo shuffled apart again. “Now, I think everyone’s restocked their tissues… Bilbo, if you would like to share your vows with us.”

Bilbo cleared his throat and kept his hands firmly in Thorin’s. It was no surprise to anyone that he had obviously memorised what he was going to say and no paper appeared.

“I’ve just told Thorin that he’s given me a very hard act to follow… so apologies to everyone, and to you, my darling Thorin, that my vows are going to pale in comparison.”

Bilbo shifted slightly, his gaze flickering to the floor, before green eyes once again returned to Thorin’s.

“I’m well aware that words are meant to be my forte. I’ve spent my life surrounded by words, always working with words and their meanings… I’ve written an eighty-thousand word thesis… I’ve written academic papers, which I promise I’m not going to try and flog in my own wedding vows…”

Bilbo paused as a few amused snorts came from their guests.

“I have written word after word after word… But when I sat down to try and find the words to express just how I feel about you, Thorin, I found myself at a loss… How am I supposed to put into something as simple as words just what you mean to me? How am I supposed to explain to you and everyone gathered here with us today just how much I love you? I remember the look on your face when I told you I was fluent in five languages… So many, many words and signs at my disposal… but still, finding the right ones has been so very difficult… Difficult, yes, but I am going to try.”

Bilbo drew in a deep breath that moved his shoulders, then looked to Thorin with a smile.

“From the very first moment I saw you, my world changed. I was so used to feeling very little… or feeling nothing at all. I was hollow, an empty shell of a person… but then you came to Ered Luin and from the very first second, something was different… I was different. I felt something. Something changed inside me, now that you’d appeared, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, into my life.”

“You said you were broken when we first met… Well, I was broken too. Strange and beautiful, how we were two broken people, but our jagged edges still fit together.”

Bilbo paused, looking away again, seeming to need a moment to gather himself for what he was going to say next, but then his gaze, fresh with tears, returned to Thorin.

“The past six years haven’t always been easy for us, Thorin… I know we’ve been through so much, that things haven’t always gone the way we wanted them to… But you loved me even when I couldn’t love myself… You still loved me when I refused to love myself… and I can’t thank you enough for that.”

Thorin would have heard the sniffles from their guests if it wasn’t for the muffled sounds in his ears as he choked down another cry the same moment Bilbo did. Their foreheads came to rest together again as they took a moment with each other to steady themselves.

“Thorin… There were so many times when I just wanted to give up, but the thought of you kept me going… Everything you’ve ever said or done has kept me going… Thorin Oakenshield, I love you, you’ve been by my side through every moment of the past six years and I never, ever want you to leave.”

Bilbo closed his eyes then and Thorin gave in, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Thank you, Thorin and Bilbo, for sharing your words with us today,” Reverend Puddifoot said gently, as they slowly moved apart again. “As predicted, there isn’t a dry eye in the room, but if I could ask everyone to hold their applause until our grooms have exchanged rings.”

Their guests settled and a hush once more fell over the room.

“I generally find this is the bit where everyone panics, which is why I always carry a set of stand-ins in my cassock, but now duty calls for me to ask Dwalin and Drogo, do you have the rings?”

Dwalin and Drogo murmured an affirmative, and then before Reverend Puddifoot could continue, Frodo called out: “This is my bit!”

“It most certainly is, Frodo,” the reverend smiled. “Gentlemen, if you would place the rings on the cushion being held by Frodo.”

Thorin and Bilbo had chosen identical wedding bands made of platinum. They had a simple, smooth design, but engraved on the inside of each were the words: ‘For all the obstacles yet to come…’.

Dwalin and Drogo both reached into their suit jacket pockets to retrieve the rings and placed them on the dark blue velvet cushion. Frodo moved with comical slowness to stand beside his uncles, holding the cushion up between them. They both grinned down at him, trying not to laugh at the way their nephew was frowning, fully aware of the seriousness of his responsibility.

“These rings held before you are symbols of the love you bear for one another,” Reverend Puddifoot explained. “The circle represents a love that is eternal, that knows no end. These rings are made of solid, sturdy metal, showing the strength of your love and that it will never be broken. They are engraved with your own message, showing you are committed to one another and will weather whatever storms life brings you together… Now, I will ask you to exchange rings. Thorin, if you would like to take the ring you wish to give to Bilbo…”

Thorin lifted his ring from the cushion, squeezing it possibly a little too tightly for fear of dropping it and sending it rolling under someone’s chair. Bilbo held out his hand, doing well at hiding a tremble that only Thorin would notice.

“Thorin, do you come here freely and without reservation to give yourself to Bilbo in marriage?”

Thorin kept his eyes on Bilbo and smiled as he answered, as clearly as he could: “I do.”

“You may slip the ring onto Bilbo’s finger.”

Having woken from multiple nightmares where he had been unable to slide his ring onto Bilbo’s finger, Thorin was relieved to find the ring gliding perfectly down Bilbo’s finger and sitting there snugly, as if it had always been there.

“And now it’s Bilbo’s turn…”

Bilbo lifted his ring and Thorin held out his hand, his own tremble probably more noticeable than Bilbo’s.

“Bilbo, do you come here freely and without reservation to give yourself to Thorin in marriage?”

Bilbo’s eyes were bright, his smile wide, as he gave his answer: “I do.”

“You may slip the ring onto Thorin’s finger.”

Bilbo reached up and brushed the fingertips of his free hand over Thorin’s as he slid the ring down his finger. The metal was unexpectedly cool, but the very moment it was settled onto his finger, Thorin knew he would never take it off again as long as he lived. Frodo was tactfully guided away by his father as Thorin and Bilbo joined hands again.

“And the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” Reverend Puddifoot said, clearly unable to contain her glee. “Thorin and Bilbo, you have exchanged vows and rings, and so, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss your husband.”

At that moment, time itself seemed to slow down, and Thorin’s entire focus narrowed only to Bilbo standing before him. They came together in perfect synchronisation, eyes closing as they reached for each other. Thorin’s hand came to rest on the back of Bilbo’s neck, the other went to his waist; Bilbo mirrored his movements and finally, finally their lips met. They had discussed how the kiss should go on several occasions, which always led to a lot of kissing and, on one memorable occasion, a rather vigorous bout of love-making right there on their living room carpet. But Thorin and Bilbo had agreed that, on the day, they wouldn’t overdo it: they definitely didn’t want to overdo it.

This resolve, however, seemed to die the moment they got their hands on each other and passionately snogging in front of their family and friends seemed to be what was called for. Thorin refused to let Bilbo go as they both deepened the kiss and they could hear nothing but riotous applause in their ears as their mouths remained firmly pressed together. When they eventually came up for air, they stayed leaning into one another, murmuring their ‘I love yous’.

It was after these few shared moments that Thorin finally dared to look at their guests for the first time since he had entered the Old Dining Room. He kept his arm around Bilbo’s waist as he surveyed the room, seeing familiar faces, all teary-eyed and rosy cheeked. His eyes finally landed on Dis, who was leaning into David’s shoulder, and her already red face crumpled again when she caught her brother’s eye.

Thorin’s attention was returned to the front of the room when Reverend Puddifoot put a hand on Bilbo’s arm. “I’d like to invite you both to come and sign the registry.”

Thorin and Bilbo moved around the table and took the seats waiting for them. Dwalin and Rosie, their official witnesses, were already there, waiting to sign with them. Thorin wasn’t quite sure how he found the strength to lift the pen, but Bilbo’s hand on his back certainly helped ground him as he carefully scribed his signature on the correct line, before handing the pen to Bilbo. Dwalin and Rosie signed after them and then Reverend Puddifoot gestured to their appointed seats on the front row. Thorin and Bilbo sat down side by side, with Dain and Sting settling themselves on the soft carpet at their partners’ feet, and everyone else also took their seats.

The remainder of the ceremony passed Thorin by in a blur. He felt as if he was floating, hovering somewhere up near the beautifully carved ceiling, and he was only aware of Bilbo’s hand in his, his wedding ring pressing into his finger, the metal warming from the contact of their skin, and very little else. Kili read Shakespeare’s ‘Sonnet 116’ and then a couple named Nicholas and Elliot, whom Bilbo had met at an LGBT+ Society open mic night, performed an acoustic version of John Legend’s ‘All of Me’. Reverend Puddifoot delivered a few more words on love and shared some of the discussions she had had with them both as they prepared for today. This was followed by Dis’ reading of ‘You’ by Carol Ann Duffy and Nicholas and Elliot closed the ceremony with Aretha Franklin’s ‘I Say A Little Prayer’.

Thorin was startled back into his own body when Reverend Puddifoot approached them, gesturing to the aisle. “And now it’s time for our newlyweds to lead us out,” she smiled.

Bilbo helped him to his feet, keeping their hands joined. They couldn’t resist kissing again when they moved into position at the top of the aisle with Dain and Sting at their sides. Their guests rose from their seats as their recessional song, The Score’s ‘Oh My Love’, filled the room. This time they saw the double-doors being opened by the castle’s staff and they made their way back down the aisle together. Pots of confetti appeared to have been strategically placed on certain chairs and so they were showered with a flurry of white petals as they walked, side by side, hand in hand, towards the doors. Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s hand and Bilbo leaned into his shoulder.

“So… you’re definitely not single then?” he whispered.

“No, I’m married, thank you very much, and my husband is the most wonderful man in the world,” Bilbo replied softly.

“Funny,” Thorin said, definitely giddy at Bilbo’s use of the word ‘husband’. “I was just about to say exactly the same thing…”

 

…  


 

With a sigh of defeat, Thorin placed his fork down onto the plate of half-eaten cake in front of him. Their wedding cake had been simple, but spectacular: made by Dori, he and Bilbo had opted for a non-traditional coffee cake, although its three tiers had still been covered in thick white icing. He had been able to convince Bilbo to go with edible and delicate white roses for the top of the cake, instead of having custom-made figures of themselves, which Thorin thought might look quite frightening. Bilbo was still talking to Prim at his side about their near-disaster with the tables’ place cards, and so Thorin decided to wait to ask his husband if he’d like the rest of his cake.

Their reception was being held in the castle’s Great Hall: a room that very much did what it said on the tin. It was a large, airy space that had all the grandeur and majesty one would expect from a thousand-year-old castle’s main hall. There were oil portraits of past residents in gilt gold frames hung on every wall, darkened with age, and full suits of armour standing guard in between ceiling-high columns. Thorin had a slightly eerie sense that one of them was about to step down from its plinth or turn its head to the side. Yet, despite these mementos of a past age, the room still felt bright and full of life, and Thorin was glad that a room steeped in such history was encouraging him to look to the future.

The wedding party’s table was long and rectangular, situated by the Great Hall’s vast windows that looked out onto Towton Moor. Their guests were gathered at circular tables dotted with napkins in varying shades of blue and strewn with tiny white bags of wedding favours, which Fili and Kili had studiously put together a few nights ago.

Thorin’s eyes moved slowly over the table, his stomach feeling warm and fuzzy as he took in just how many people had come to join them for this very special day. Bofur was helping the staff and resident DJ set up the dancefloor, ready for the first dance, for which he would be providing his rendition of Elvis Presley’s ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’. Bombur and his wife were sitting at a table not too far away, speaking with Dori, Nori, and Ori as they finished their slices of cake. Bifur had been given the go-ahead by Dr. Grey to attend the ceremony in the Old Dining Room, but the old soldier had felt the reception might be a little too overwhelming for him. Thorin and Bilbo had said a fond farewell to their friend before he returned to Ered Luin, making sure he knew just how much it meant to them that he had been there to see them get married.

Extra staff had been called in from one of Leeds’ neighbouring hospitals so that the nurses and doctors from Ward Seventeen could be present for both the ceremony and the reception. Radagast, Poppy, Beorn and Haldir were all seated together, along with Dr. Grey and his partner, Patrick, who had been together for twenty-seven years. They had never felt the need for any kind of legal recognition of their relationship, but the doctor had intimated after the ceremony that he and Patrick may have had a change of heart. Dr. Cox and her husband also joined them. Thorin and Bilbo hadn’t issued a wedding gift list, instead asking their guests to donate to two local charities that supported LGBT youth and tackled stigma surrounding mental health. However, this hadn’t stopped Dr. Cox from having her official ‘Honeymoon Hamper’ sent up to their suit… but Thorin decided now was not the moment to think about that.

Gloin and Oin, distant cousins heralding from the Welsh Valleys, who had got in touch the year before were sitting on one of the tables closest to the wedding party and they were joined by a group of Bilbo’s friends from Birmingham whom he had only recently reconnected with. Everyone from the support group had made it, including Tom and Briony and their five-month-old daughter, who had travelled up from London where they were both involved in the planning for the year’s Invictus Games. Graham and Nuveena were looking very loved up, as were James and Linda, who were about to celebrate thirty-five years of marriage. Thorin wasn’t sure he and Bilbo would get thirty-five years, but he hoped their time together would be full of the same strength and happiness.

Faramir and his wife, Captain Eowyn Whitetree, were sitting on the next table with Lieutenant-Colonel Boromir Whitetree, both officers in their ceremonial uniforms or ‘blues’, their peaked forage caps sitting on the table in front of them. Corporal Heather Fairbairn of the Royal Engineers, also in ceremonial dress, was sitting beside her commanding officer, but she didn’t appear to be listening to the table’s conversation… instead she was watching the top table and, more specifically, she was watching Fili as she attempted to flick imperial mints from the wedding favours into her wine glass. Thorin’s chest tightened a little, but he told himself to behave. He’d known Heather almost as long as he’d known Bilbo, and if she’d taken a shine to his niece, he wasn’t going to stand in the way of that. He wondered if Fili, in all her acuity, had noticed… but then it had been difficult to miss Heather’s expression when the wedding party, lined up in front of the doors to the Great Hall, had been greeting their guests and she had told Fili she looked beautiful. Fili had flushed instantly, panicked, and told Heather she liked her hat… and then spent the next ten minutes groaning into her hands.

Thorin was startled from his musings when Bilbo put a gentle hand on his arm.

“Sorry, love,” Bilbo murmured. “You were miles away… Do you need a break?”

Thorin turned his hand and opened his palm so Bilbo could rest his own hand over it, then lock their fingers together. “No… no, I’m okay. Unless you’d like one?”

Dr. Grey had advised that they take periodic time-outs from the day’s proceedings to avoid getting too stressed or overwhelmed by the constant attention that inevitably came from one’s wedding. The official photographs had been taken before the meal out in the castle’s gardens, their photographer being a woman named Charlotte, a friend of Fili’s from Erebor Grammar, who was working for her older sister’s studio. Afterwards, Thorin and Bilbo had gone for a walk around the grounds, just the two of them with Dain and Sting trotting dutifully by their sides. The fresh air had certainly done them both good and also helped them work up an appetite for their four course ‘late lunch’.

“I think I’ll cope, although I may still be recovering from our best men’s speech,” Bilbo said, with a sound of exasperation. “I have no idea how Drogo found out why I was banned from the Prancing Pony… and we did tell them to keep it ‘Safe For Work’.”

“Well, with Dwalin as co-author, that was never going to happen,” Thorin replied, although his tone was sympathetic. His cousin had actually opened their speech with: “You all know my cousin used to be a miserable bastard…” and that had pretty much set the tone for the speeches.

Fili had been suitably tipsy when she began her maid of honour speech, announcing that ‘slightly drunken speeches’ were her forte. His niece had claimed most of the credit for her uncles finally getting hitched and then admitted to recycling her own material as she once again quoted lines from _Lilo & Stitch_. Unlike Dwalin and Drogo’s efforts, Fili’s speech had also included a more interactive element as she manoeuvred Thorin and Bilbo into position and got them to recreate their second meeting, but Thorin had drawn the line at getting into Downward Facing Dog for fear of ripping his suit trousers.

“I’m upset I didn’t get to see you with your arse in the air,” Bilbo said, as if reading his husband’s mind as he gave him a playful nudge.

“Maybe later,” Thorin said, flashing him a rather wicked grin and kissing his hair.

“Alright, gents?”

Bofur appeared behind them as if from nowhere, making them both jump in their seats.

“Sorry for sneaking up on you,” he said, unable to hide his smile. “We’re all set up now, so the dancefloor awaits… Whenever you’re ready, just give Sara the signal.”

Thorin looked over to where the tables had been cleared and saw Sara, one finger to her earpiece, standing by the DJ booth in the corner of the room.

“We can give it a few minutes, sweetheart,” Bilbo said softly, following his gaze. “There’s no rush.”

Thorin exhaled slowly. This was another moment in which he would be finding himself both the centre of attention and outside his comfort zone. However, just like his vows, this was also a moment that was about Bilbo, about showing his love for his husband, and so he gave Dain’s ears a scratch and straightened up. He turned to Bilbo and offered his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Bilbo took his hand with the most beautiful smile and answered: “I’d be delighted.”

They both got to their feet as Bofur went to get into position in front of his microphone. Thorin helped Bilbo shrug on his suit jacket and then they made their way over to the edge of the dancefloor, settling Dain and Sting down by the chairs.

Bilbo flashed Sara a thumbs up and she moved forward, addressing the room with a booming voice Thorin hadn’t quite expected: “Esteemed guests, if I could have your attention, please? Thorin and Bilbo now invite you to the dancefloor as they share their first dance as husbands.”

There was a flurry of excitement as everyone rose from their tables and moved en masse to the other side of the Great Hall. Thorin tried not to notice the amount of cameras and phones that were being retrieved from bags and pockets. Hopefully, if he did make a prat of himself, it wasn’t going to end up on Facebook or YouTube. As he had now witnessed on multiple occasions, Bilbo was an excellent dancer, and Thorin had no problem with letting his husband lead them in this first dance. They had been practising on and off for the past month, sometimes in their kitchen whilst they were waiting for something to cook, sometimes in their room before they got undressed for bed. Thorin hoped the practice had been enough for him to get through the real thing without stepping on Bilbo’s foot.

“Ready?” Bilbo whispered, taking his hand.

Thorin nodded. “Ready.”

Having been given the signal, the DJ began playing the track and Sara spoke to their gathered guests: “I ask you all now to welcome Thorin and Bilbo onto the dancefloor for their first dance, ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’, sung by a great friend of theirs, Bofur Urson.”

Cheers and applause rose up as Bilbo led Thorin to the centre of the dancefloor. They took a moment to settle their hands on each other’s waists and then folded the fingers of their other hands together.

_“Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can’t help falling in love with you…”_

Bofur’s voice filled the room and Thorin let Bilbo rock them gently from side to side, instinctively moving closer and pressing his hand into Bilbo’s back.

_“Shall I stay? Would it be a sin? If I can’t help falling in love with you…?”_

Thorin felt his eyes begin to sting as he leaned down to rest the side of his head against Bilbo’s and his husband held him closer. He was only vaguely aware of the flashes from cameras and phones, of the sighs and gentle coos, as his whole world narrowed once again to Bilbo and they swayed together, perfectly in sync.

_“Take my hand, take my whole life too, for I can’t help falling in love with you…”_

It came so naturally, and Thorin and Bilbo found themselves lowering their hands only to join them together again in time with the lyrics, which prompted another round of ‘awwws’ from their audience. Thorin didn’t think they could have chosen a more fitting song, as he wanted Bilbo to take his hand and never let go, and he was glad to be giving his whole life to the man he loved so very much.

He turned his head slightly so that his forehead was resting against Bilbo’s and murmured: “I love you.”

Bilbo looked up at him then, eyes glittering. “I love you too.” He rose onto his toes and pressed their lips together in a soft, lingering kiss.

They broke apart just as Sara asked other couples to join them on the dancefloor. Thorin and Bilbo had agreed that they didn’t want the attention to be on them for too long, and the best way to do this was to invite everyone else to dance beside them. Bilbo leaned forward, resting his face against Thorin’s chest, tucking his head under Thorin’s chin, and they both watched as Dis and David and Dr. Grey and Patrick stepped onto the dancefloor, followed soon after by Rosie and Sam, Drogo and Prim, Dr. Cox and her husband and Graham and Nuveena.

_“Like a river flows, surely to the sea… Darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be…”_

Once the song concluded to thunderous applause, Thorin and Bilbo took a short break out on the patio round the back of the Great Hall where they found Sara having a cheeky cigarette break. At first their ceremony coordinator had been mortified at being caught out, but they had insisted they didn’t mind and asked if they could cadge a light. Both Thorin and Bilbo had, for all intents and purposes, given up smoking – neither of them had touched a cigarette for six months, despite the stresses of wedding planning – but they figured they might be excused from indulging today, especially after a very successful first dance.

Fili appeared to have sobered up by the time she asked her uncle for a dance. Buoyed up by his victory with ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’, Thorin led his niece slowly around the dancefloor to Edith Piaf’s ‘La Vie en Rose’, pleased with the easy grace of their movements. They had hit one snag when Fili had attempted to twirl under his arm and therefore agreed never to do that again: that was definitely their limit. Fili hummed along to the music, occasionally singing in a terrible French accent, and tried to get her uncle to sing along too.

“I’m super proud of you, you know,” she murmured, looking up at Thorin with a fairly soppy smile.

“For getting married?” Thorin grinned.

“For today… I know a lot of stuff freaked you out, but you did it, and it’s been perfect. Seriously, people are gonna be talking about this for ages. No one’s gonna dare get married for years now because they know they can’t top you and Bilbo.”

Thorin smiled at that. “Thank you, Fili.”

“S’alright.”

Thorin had been aware of Heather lingering on the edge of the dancefloor for a while, but when she finally came to join them he was still fairly shocked. Fili felt him freeze up as Heather approached and looked to her uncle with a questioning expression.

“Good evening, Sir,” the young engineer said, with a nervous smile.

Thorin and Fili came to a stop. “Good evening, Corporal.”

“I was wondering if I had your permission to cut in?”

Thorin once again told himself to behave, to relax, as his hand dropped from Fili’s.

“Okay, Uncle, I’ll go rescue Poppy and Beorn from my brother, who appears to have actually tied his cravat around his head…”

Fili had clearly misunderstood Heather’s meaning, which only exacerbated the soldier’s anxiety as her eyes flickered to her captain.

“No, Fili…” Thorin said slowly, surprised at finding himself in a position where he was the one explaining something to his niece. “Corporal Fairbairn would like to dance with you.”

“With… with me?” Fili asked, sounding genuinely shocked. “Even after I made that mortifying hat comment?”

“I’m glad you like my cap,” Heather smiled. “And yes, one dance with you would make my night.”

Colour instantly crept into Fili’s cheeks. “Erm… Okay… Sure… I’m not really a great dancer, well not to music like this anyway… If they stick some electro house on, I might be able to break it down… Oh my God, as if I just said ‘break it down’… What I meant is that’s more my kind of music… but I suppose it’s not great if you want to dance together, like with someone, so…”

Thorin put a hand on Fili’s shoulder and leaned in so he could murmur: “Stop talking, you’ll be fine.”

This seemed to snap Fili back to herself and she smiled bashfully over at Heather. “Sorry…”

Heather seemed to have found the whole thing ridiculously endearing if the look in her eyes was anything to go by. “It’s okay. Shall we…?”

Thorin stepped away, moving to the edge of the dancefloor where Dain was waiting for him. He took a seat, letting the Labrador shuffle in between his knees, and watched as Heather and Fili began to sway together, speaking quietly, and unable to keep their eyes off each other.

“So Heather finally plucked up the courage to ask the Captain’s niece for a dance!”

Bilbo plopped himself down onto the chair next to his husband, automatically snuggling into his side. Thorin wrapped his arm around Bilbo’s back and kissed his forehead.

“Yes, Fili almost cocked it up, but now they appear to be having fun,” Thorin said, with a sly smile. “Must be an Oakenshield trait.”

Bilbo hummed and, looking down, Thorin could see he was definitely pleased about something.

“What?” Thorin asked carefully.

“Hmm?”

“You’re smiling about something.”

“… It’s my wedding day, aren’t I allowed to smile?”

“Yes, but that’s your ‘I know something you don’t know’ smile…”

Bilbo straightened up, looking even more gleeful.

“Come on, you’ve got to tell me now,” Thorin said, feeling his heart give a few quick thumps inside his chest.

Bilbo lowered his voice and leaned forward. “Graham and Nuveena are engaged and Rosie is pregnant again!”

“Really?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo quickly signalled for him to whisper. “Have they just told you now?”

Bilbo shook his head, and Thorin knew what that meant.

“Bilbo…”

“I know, I know… But they’ve only been keeping it quiet for fear of stealing our thunder.”

“Still, we should wait for them to tell us, it’s not fair to ruin the moment for them,” Thorin replied, unable to stop himself peering over at the table where Graham and Nuveena were speaking with the Gamgees. “So… how _did_ you figure it out?”

Bilbo shrugged. “Rosie hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol today and she didn’t at my stag either. Also she definitely threw up at the cottage this morning… Graham and Nuveena are being particularly lovey-dovey at the moment and Nuveena won’t leave the ring finger of her left hand alone, meaning she’s used to fiddling with a ring that’s usually on there.”

Thorin couldn’t help but grin at his scarily brilliant husband. “Surely they knew they wouldn’t be able to hide it from you of all people.”

“Which is why I suspect we’re about to be accosted by Rosie in three… two… one…”

“Here, hold this potato!”

Thorin suddenly found eight-month-old Hamfast thrust into his arms as Rosie rounded on Bilbo. Hamfast didn’t seem perturbed by this and simply gave a sleepy wriggle as he settled his head on Thorin’s shoulder. Thorin rubbed his godson’s back and made gentle shushing sounds as Bilbo straightened up at his side.

“Bilbo Baggins, have you told anyone? Apart from Thorin?” Rosie said, in a harsh whisper, as her eyes flitted about the room.

“Of course not,” Bilbo replied honestly. “I haven’t breathed a word to anyone else… Does Sam know?”

“Yes.” Rosie dropped her voice even further, although she seemed to have relaxed. “But Sam hasn’t told his family yet and Elanor doesn’t know…”

“We promise we won’t go blabbing,” Thorin said gently. “And congratulations.”

Rosie gave them both a genuine, warm smile at that, one hand twitching towards her stomach. “Thank you,” she murmured, letting Bilbo take her hand. “Now, Graham has bet Nuveena five quid that you’ve figured out their news… So come on, tell me, who’s going to be paying for my next lemonade?”

 

…

 

As the evening progressed, Fili’s electro house music made an appearance and Thorin watched as his niece and his husband performed some fairly complicated dance routines completely in sync. He was coaxed back onto the dancefloor by Freddie Mercury’s ‘I Was Born to Love You’, which he sang, word-perfect, to Bilbo. They both retired to the chairs on the edge of the dancefloor just in time to see Fili, who was wearing a forage cap, grab a bottle of wine from the table and then grab Heather’s hand, leading her out onto the patio.

“She’ll be fine,” Bilbo said softly, following Thorin’s gaze.

Thorin nodded, glad to see Fili smiling again and clearly enjoying herself, all nerves surrounding Heather having vanished.

“I think I fancy a break… Want to join me?”

Letting Bilbo take his hand, Thorin was surprised when he was led out of the Great Hall and into the foyer, not out into the grounds. Bilbo moved towards the staircase and Thorin gave a cough.

“Bilbo, love… I… I don’t think I could muster the energy right now…”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “To walk up the stairs?”

“No… Er, just… Today has been exhausting and it’s not that I don’t want to, I just think we might need to wait a while… If I had a nap first, then…”

Thorin trailed off as Bilbo started laughing, placing a hand on his chest, before whispering: “Sweetheart, are you under the impression that I’m taking you up to our room for a quick shag?”

“You mean… you’re not?” Thorin asked, frowning.

Bilbo returned a soppy expression as he pecked him on the lips. “No, darling husband, I’m not… I certainly don’t have the energy for that either… There’s a rooftop terrace that I thought might be good for a bit of star-gazing as it’s a lovely, clear night… If that’s okay?”

Thorin smiled at his mistake. “I think I can manage that.”

The terrace, located three floors up on the castle’s battlements, was completely deserted and so Thorin and Bilbo had their pick of the benches. They decided on the small, wooden, eastward-facing bench that gave them a view of the grounds, lit by soft pools of white light, with the dark shapes of Towton Moor stretching beyond, disappearing into the black horizon. It was indeed a clear night, with only a few chalky wisps of cloud etched across the sky, which was studded with an array of bright, twinkling stars.

Bilbo tucked himself into Thorin’s side and they leaned their heads together, watching their breath rise up in clouds of mist, vanishing into the evening’s cool but pleasant air.

“I’m looking forward to our spa day tomorrow,” Bilbo said, folding his fingers over Thorin’s. “Think I’ll be ready to properly recharge by then.”

Thorin hummed his agreement. Most of their guests would be staying the night, but then leaving after breakfast tomorrow morning. Thorin and Bilbo, however, had booked their room for another two nights so they could enjoy all the luxury spa treatments and facilities the castle had to offer. And then, on the Tuesday, they would be driving up to Lake Windemere in the Lake District where they had booked a cottage for their week-long honeymoon. Thorin couldn’t deny that he was looking forward to long walks through the woods and by the lake, followed by evenings warming himself and Bilbo by a real wood fire. It was sure to be quiet and peaceful, absolute bliss after a year of wedding preparations… not that he’d minded all the planning, not after the wonderful day it’d finally brought them.

“You’re brooding,” Bilbo mumbled, pushing his nose into Thorin’s neck.

“Not brooding,” Thorin said quietly. “Just thinking about our honeymoon.”

“Oh, well that’s alright then… We mustn’t forget to take Dr. Cox’s ‘Honeymoon Hamper’ with us when we pack the car.”

Thorin snorted, giving his husband a nudge. “Behave.”

“What, just because I don’t have the energy right now doesn’t mean I’m not _very_ interested in what we’re going to find in there.”

They both ended up chuckling, before falling back into silence as their eyes moved over the castle’s grounds stretched out below them.

“Today was perfect though, wasn’t it?” Bilbo asked, turning to Thorin with a soft smile.

“It was,” Thorin agreed. “It was perfect.”

Bilbo’s smile widened as he took Thorin’s hand. “I love you.”

Thorin hooked a finger under Bilbo’s chin. “I love you too,” he whispered, and with their guests continuing to celebrate below and the stars glittering in the sky above, Thorin pulled his husband in for a sweet, tender kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I can’t believe the wedding chapter is finally posted! This update honestly means an awful lot to me, you guys, so if you could possibly find a spare moment to give me some feedback, it would be so, so appreciated! :) 
> 
> Random Trivia: Nicholas and Elliot are the names I use for Bilbo and Thorin when discussing my ‘novel’ with my parents.
> 
> Also! After much anxiety and combatting of social awkwardness, I am now part of the Bagginshield Discord group which perkynurples (Bilboo) has very kindly set-up. If you’re also a member, please do feel free to add me as a friend! 
> 
> Finally, I just wanted to reiterate what I’ve said in the opening author’s note and thank all of you for continuing to support the Obstacles!verse. We’re approaching the end now and it just means so much to me that people out there are still reading and enjoying my work <3


	13. October, 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, and a very Happy New Year to you all! <3 I come bearing some rather smutty gifts! DITR’s penultimate chapter is a triad of ‘first time’ NSFW interludes from the Obstacles!verse that I wanted to post before I bring this story to an end. Enjoy ;) 
> 
> Warning: As stated above, here be dicks!

**_October, 2015_ **

 

Thorin was pulled from a warm, comfortable doze by the sound of the bathroom door creaking open. Trying to focus his bleary gaze, he all but peeled the side of his face from the cool tiles, leaving a beard-shaped, freckled imprint of steam on the smooth white surface. His head rolled sluggishly away from the wall to greet his guest, a dopey smile appearing as Bilbo, dressed for bed in his pyjamas, shuffled into the bathroom, a soft navy towel slung over his arm. At first Thorin thought he must have left his towel in the dryer again… but then he clocked the mobile phone in Bilbo’s hand.

Hooking his elbows over the side of the bath, Thorin pulled himself up into a sitting position, water sloshing around him as his stomach gave a sickly jolt. The thick fog from his long, relaxing soak instantly dissipated as a memory returned to him. One night last month, they had been cuddled up on the sofa when Bilbo had turned to him and slowly slipped a phone into his hand, saying mildly: “I think I might be mid-episode… Would you mind giving Gandalf a ring?” Bilbo’s nonchalance had scared Thorin more than anything, and afterwards Bilbo had promised that, in future, he would tell his boyfriend straight away if there was a problem.

“Sweetheart…?” Thorin asked carefully, eyes moving from the phone to Bilbo’s indecipherable expression. “Is everything okay…?”

Bilbo shifted on the spot, pushing his bare toes into the bathmat. He bit his lip, clearly needing some time to formulate his next words. Thorin knew he should be patient and so, despite his heart beginning a fairly ominous thump against his ribs, he stayed silent and waited for the answer.

“Gandalf and I have been doing some pretty intensive work this month…” Bilbo began, his voice quiet but steady. “And I… I’ve decided that I’d like to try having a bath tonight.”

Thorin sat up a little straighter, droplets of water skittering down the side of the bath as he flexed his fingers over the plastic rim. “Oh…” was all he said at first, which was, of course, incredibly helpful. It had been several months since Bilbo hadn’t been able to manage showering and Thorin had noticed he’d been keeping him company more frequently during his long soaks in the bath. “Would, er, would you like me to get out…?” He made to lift himself from the water.

Bilbo let out a low chuckle, his nervousness disappearing for a moment. “Well, removing my main motivation for getting into the bath would quite defeat the object of this particular exercise…”

It took Thorin a moment to twig, but then he felt the heat creeping up his neck. “You… you want to join me?”

“Only if that’s alright with you,” Bilbo replied, now looking almost bashful as he adjusted the towel over his arm.

“Yes… yes, of course,” Thorin said, with a cough. “The water isn’t, erm, it isn’t all that warm anymore.”

“That’s okay.” Bilbo folded his towel into a square on top of the closed toilet seat. “I think it might help… the water not being too hot, probably less overwhelming…”

Thorin nodded, his eyes lingering on the phone which Bilbo had nestled in the middle of the towel.

“Just in case,” he explained, following the direction of Thorin’s gaze. “I’ve texted Gandalf so he knows I’m giving it a go tonight. Sting is settled with Dain by the door.”

Thorin tried very hard not to picture the text in question, the flush sneaking up into his cheeks, and he told himself that Dr. Grey would, as ever, be wholly unphased by the proceedings.

“Right, well, I suppose I should…” Bilbo gestured at his pyjamas. He waited a beat before pulling the short-sleeved cotton top up and over his head.

Thorin was used to seeing his boyfriend’s scars and his heart no longer gave a little twinge when the vicious criss-cross patterns came into view. He loved each darkened or silvery line as he loved every part of Bilbo: these reminders of what he had been through only made him more determined to support him through this next step in his recovery.

After folding the top beside the bathmat, Bilbo shimmied out of his pyjama bottoms and crouched down to fold them just as neatly. “I know you’re staring,” he murmured, trying and failing to sound grumpy about it.

“Not staring, _admiring_.”

Bilbo scoffed, straightening up, but then a frown appeared as he turned to the bath. The uneasiness returned to his expression as he eyed the water before him, and Thorin sensed the mental battle waging behind his silence.

“Would you like me to help you get in?” he offered, when Bilbo didn’t move.

There came a smirk in reply. “Now, that _would_ make me feel ancient.”

Knowing Bilbo was using humour to hide his nerves, Thorin didn’t press him further. He watched, heart travelling a little closer to his throat, as Bilbo rolled his shoulders and put noticeable effort into calming his breathing.

“I… I’m going to try it one foot at a time…” he whispered. “If I can manage that… I’ll lower myself down in front of you.”

“Okay, love,” Thorin said softly, pressing his back into the bath, ensuring Bilbo had enough space to manoeuvre himself. “Just tell me if you need anything.”

Bilbo nodded, gaze focused on the water, and then exhaled slowly. “Left foot first, I think…”

Positioning himself at the side of the bath, Bilbo lifted his left leg and then dipped his foot down into the water. Thorin waited, wishing he could see Bilbo’s face, trying instead to read his reaction in his tensed muscles. He looked through the rippling water and saw the foot flatten itself against the bottom of the bath. Bilbo had gone impossibly still, hunching forward, and Thorin wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. But then he heard a sharp inhale as Bilbo brought his right leg over the side of the bath.

He stood for a moment, his movements having made gentle waves in the bathwater that splashed about his calves. “I… I’m going to sit down now…”

“I’m right here,” Thorin replied, hoping this would be more reassuring than another ‘okay’.

Bilbo remained frozen in his stooped position for another long minute, and then, with both hands gripping the side of the bath, he sank down into the water. A slight swell lapped at Thorin’s stomach as he watched Bilbo’s pale back. Head remaining bowed, his fingers curled around the tops of his arms, and there was the familiar spluttering of someone trying to regain control of their breathing. At first Thorin thought it would be best not to reach for Bilbo, but then he saw the way his nails were digging into the skin beneath his shoulders, fingers tensed into claws, and his stomach executed a very unpleasant flip. His eyes flitted to the phone on the towel beside him.

“Bilbo, love,” he said cautiously. “Are you alright?”

“I… I can feel the water stinging… It’s prickling all over my body… but I know it’s not real…”

“Can I touch you?” Thorin asked, forcing himself to remain calm.

Bilbo waited a moment, before answering with a hushed “yes”.

Edging forward in the bath, Thorin leaned in and placed both his hands over Bilbo’s, keeping his touch light. It took a little while, but Bilbo’s fingers eventually began to relax and then he let Thorin guide them away from his shoulders until they were resting, without tension, against his elbows.

“I’m so proud of you for doing this, you know,” Thorin whispered, keeping his hands in place, anchoring Bilbo with him. “You’ve been incredibly brave tonight.”

Bilbo let out a choked sound and Thorin carefully leaned into the side of the bath so he could see his face. His eyes were closed, several lines pinching his brow, and there was a flash of one glittering tear track down his cheek.

“Would you like me to breathe with you?” Thorin prompted, brushing his thumbs against Bilbo’s.

“Please.” The word had arrived with some strain.

“Okay… Just straighten yourself up a little bit… it’s going to make inhaling a lot easier…” Thorin slowly drew Bilbo’s elbows out to help him uncurl from his hunched position. “Now, deep breath in…” He sucked in a lungful of air, Bilbo dutifully trying to match him. “And out…”

They spent a few moments just focusing on their breathing, their chests rising and falling in clumsy unison until Thorin could see the tension leave the muscles in Bilbo’s back and shoulders. His hands had slid from beneath Thorin’s into his lap, floating in the water in front of him. Thorin’s fingers continued to trace the skin at Bilbo’s elbows, sensing he might need the contact.

“How are you feeling now, sweetheart?”

Bilbo turned to look over his shoulder. “It’s… a little odd. I still feel a bit tingly… but it’s not as bad as it was before.”

“That’s good,” Thorin smiled, clearing his throat. “Would you like to try lying back with me…? It might help you feel more, er, relaxed?”

Bilbo flashed him a grin, looking more and more like his usual self. “I’d like that.” He carefully edged closer, settling between Thorin’s legs, before lowering himself back into his chest, curls coming to rest against Thorin’s shoulder. Hands stroked over arms beneath the water.

“Much better,” Thorin whispered, nudging his nose into Bilbo’s neck.

Bilbo let out a contented sigh as he closed his eyes, melting into the embrace. Thorin could feel the younger man’s heartbeat, knocking a little too quickly for his liking, but then he didn’t expect him to be able to relax straight away. He was just happy that no disaster seemed to have befallen them and that he had Bilbo, warm and heavy, in his arms.

“Thank you,” Bilbo murmured, after a few minutes had passed, his head still lolling against Thorin’s shoulder. “Thank you for helping me with this.”

“I haven’t really done anything.”

“Apart from being gloriously naked and sexy,” Bilbo replied, laughing when he heard Thorin splutter. “Tempting me into the water like a siren with a sailor.”

Thorin managed a smile at that despite his blushing. It was just a very Bilbo thing to do: to draw mythological allusions from their situation.

“You know, this is actually the first time I’ve shared a bath with a partner.”  

Thorin gave a low hum. “Me too.”

A rather impish smile appeared on Bilbo’s face, although his eyes remained closed. “I’m very pleased to hear we’ve lost our bath-sharing virginity to each other.”

Thorin was about to reply, but paused as Bilbo wriggled back into him, trying to get more comfortable. His fingers stilled in their reassuring touches as he let out a slow breath, feeling colour flood his cheeks. He waited, hoping Bilbo wouldn’t move again, and his stomach conducted a series of giddy scrunches. He forced himself to try and breathe normally as his eyes moved away from Bilbo, over to the mirror that was still pencilled in by a light covering of mist.

“Thorin… I promise you I am very flattered that your hard-on is currently prodding me in the back, now please will you relax?”

Thorin let out a slight strangled sound, but Bilbo only snorted, wiggling his bum again in a very unhelpful manner.

“Sorry…” Thorin said, more than slightly mortified. “I’m sorry… I know it’s not a good time.”

It was then that Bilbo turned to look at Thorin, and his expression was not the one he had been expecting. There was no wryness, nor was there any irritation: his lips were parted slightly as he studied Thorin with a rather familiar look in his green eyes.

He twisted his body so that he could lean in first, gently pressing a kiss to Thorin’s lips. Their eyes fluttered closed as their mouths came together, with more purpose this time, and Thorin laced their fingers together beneath the water. Bilbo’s nose twitched as it slid past Thorin’s and then his tongue was tickling and teasing its way into the more satisfying territory of open-mouthed kissing.

Thorin was happy to let him take the lead for a few long, languid minutes, although he was hardly a passive partner: he lightly nipped at the side of Bilbo’s mouth and sucked on his tongue just the way he liked it. When he did dare to slowly pull away, he made sure he brushed his lips against Bilbo’s jaw before any noise of protest could leave him.

Bilbo stilled, obviously curious to discover what he had in mind. Thorin kissed his way down his jaw, then nuzzled into his neck. Letting out a quiet sigh, Bilbo tilted his head to the side in clear invitation. Thorin rumbled his appreciation and ran his mouth over the flushed skin, before daring to lick a stripe along Bilbo’s neck, just up to his ear. Bilbo shuddered then, and so Thorin repeated the motion a few more times until he received the first much-desired moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in Bilbo’s reddened ear, making his breath catch, and then he pressed his mouth to the skin where neck met shoulder and gently began to suck.

He and Bilbo had always had firmly established boundaries, and he knew not to bite, not to suck hard enough to mark or break skin, but he also knew just how much Bilbo loved it when he did this. Sure enough, there came another keening moan as Bilbo’s head fell back against his shoulder. Thorin continued to lap and nibble at his neck, greatly enjoying feeling Bilbo shiver as he pressed himself back into his chest.

It was then that Thorin lifted both his hands from the water, sending little spindly rivulets running down Bilbo’s stomach as he reached up under his arms. He waited a moment, stroking his thumbs over wet skin, and when he received no dissent, he brought his fingers to Bilbo’s nipples. There was a definite intake of breath as Thorin gave them a light pinch, checking their sensitivity, and Bilbo arched his back, pushing them into Thorin’s hands.

“You deserve all the pleasure in the world.” Thorin’s voice was gravelly and impossibly deep as he nosed at Bilbo’s neck again.

A beautiful gasp was Thorin’s reward as he began rolling hardening nubs between forefinger and thumb, and Bilbo pushed back into him as dazed eyes rolled up into his head. Sucking once again at the sensitive skin of Bilbo’s neck, Thorin switched to rubbing the nipples with his thumbs and he heard his own name being moaned, quite breathlessly, back at him.

After giving the pale brown buds a few generous plucks, Thorin tentatively brought two fingers to Bilbo’s lips. Bilbo appeared to be expecting it, and he lifted his head so that he could take them into his mouth. He suckled on them gently at first, tongue flicking over Thorin’s fingertips, but then he began to lick with more vigour and Thorin felt his cock give a definite twitch. He shifted, closing his eyes and resisting the urge to seek out more friction with Bilbo’s back.

His mind was returned to the task at hand when Bilbo released his fingers with a deliciously wet sound. His lips, glistening with saliva, stayed parted with clear expectation, and so Thorin lifted his other hand, unable to resist stroking his forefinger over Bilbo’s bottom lip, before letting him draw them into his mouth. The soaked fingers of Thorin’s left hand found Bilbo’s nipple as he sucked, tugging and toying with it and making him moan around his fingers.

Once they were both satisfied, Bilbo pulled away with a sloppy pop, and Thorin began a renewed and calculated assault on his boyfriend’s chest. He squeezed and rubbed, varying his rhythm and movements, sometimes using circular motions, sometimes back and forth. He also tested out different pressures, which elicited different moans and gasps.

All the while, Thorin was making his own low growling sounds as he tried not to rut against Bilbo’s back, knowing this probably wouldn’t be appreciated. He brushed his beard against Bilbo’s cheek as he went to kiss his neck again, enjoying the way the prickle of facial hair on smooth skin made him whine.

But then Bilbo suddenly went very still. Reading the signs instantly, Thorin ceased the attentions to his nipples and laid his hands flat against his chest.

“We… we need to stop…”

“Okay,” Thorin replied, trying his best not to sound too disappointed.

Bilbo twisted around, running a finger over his collarbone, and his eyes were alight with surprising mischief. “Because no one has ever said ‘You know, I had really great bath sex the other night!’ and I’m not sure I want all those inevitable bruises.”

“Oh,” Thorin said, stomach flipping. “You mean you want to…?”

Bilbo pecked a kiss to his lips, smile positively wicked. “Let’s get dry and take this to the bedroom, shall we?”

Thorin tried not to appear too much like an eager puppy as he nodded his agreement.

“Now, the way I’m about to stagger quite ungracefully out of this bath with my knees cracking is going to be very unattractive, so you just keep picturing my nipples and my fingers in your mouth, yes?”

Thorin grinned, knowing there was very little chance of him losing the raging wide-on that was currently bobbing beneath the bathwater.

In the end, both he and Bilbo managed to get out of the bath without injury, drying themselves and each other, and wrapping their towels around their waists. Thorin was unable to resist pulling Bilbo to him for a kiss, which became quite insistent and handsy _very_ quickly.

“No, no, no! We keep going like this and we’ll end up shagging on the bathroom floor!” Bilbo huffed, dodging out of the way of Thorin’s lips.

“We could put towels down?” Thorin said, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

“Ridiculous man!” came Bilbo’s fond reply. “Our bed is literally four metres away… Come on…”

Pushing open the door, he took Thorin’s hand and pulled him towards their bedroom.

 

…

 

**_January, 2016_ **

 

Thorin breathed a sigh of relief as he and Dain stepped into the cosy warmth of Flat 9, Shire Oak Court. It was bitterly cold outside, and he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to walking home in the dark.

“Only me!” Thorin called out, scraping his boots on the welcome mat and juggling Dain’s lead as he pulled off his gloves.

“Hello, only you!” came Bilbo’s cheery reply from down the hallway, followed by the familiar tapping of laptop keys, and Thorin couldn’t help but smile to himself at the domesticity of it all… he was sure it was something he was never going to get tired of.

He found Bilbo in the living room, sitting at the table in the corner with his laptop and a congregation of books and papers open at various pages. There were at least three mugs of dark-coloured tea in different stages of cooling dotted amongst the organised chaos of academia. Sting was curled up at his feet, but roused himself when Dain decided to lick his nose.

“So it’s been a productive day then?” Thorin asked, coming to his boyfriend’s side, one hand trailing lightly between his shoulders.

“Oh yes,” Bilbo smiled, lifting his head for a quick kiss. “I’ve finally whipped this chapter into shape… How was your day?”

“All the application deadlines are looming, so we had quite a few panicked teenagers in this afternoon, but nothing I couldn’t handle,” Thorin explained, giving Bilbo’s shoulders a squeeze, unable to resist leaning down to peck another kiss to his temple.

Bilbo relaxed back into him, his head pressing into Thorin’s stomach. “Fili gave you enough practice over Christmas, I suppose.”

Thorin wasn’t sure anyone was going to forget Fili’s flapping over housing for her second year at Birmingham combined with one of her lecturer’s inexplicably moving an essay deadline forward to the start of the new term. Eyes scanning the table, Thorin couldn’t help but conduct a quick check, thumbs rubbing gently over Bilbo’s back, but nothing appeared out of place. He knew there had been an appointment with Dr. Cox that morning, but he wasn’t going to ask. Bilbo would tell him if he wanted to talk about it.

“I’m just going to get changed,” he said, after a few quiet moments.

“Okay, love.”

Thorin moved through to their bedroom and unclipped Dain’s lead, settling him down into the bed by the bathroom door. He slipped off his jacket and fed him a few treats whilst scratching behind his ears. Plonking himself rather heavily down onto the edge of the bed, he let out a gentle sound of relief. He’d been on his feet all day, guiding potential recruits to the right desks in the AFCO, checking applications and dealing with a lot of people who were too nervous to actually sit down, preferring to stand at the computers as their details were entered.

Finding the energy to lift a hand, Thorin slowly pulled the khaki beret from his head and set it down on the bed beside him. He rubbed a hand over his face, stifling a yawn, and rolled his shoulders.

He was just about to reach down and start unlacing his boots when Bilbo called out to him: “Thorin?”

Thorin lifted his head. “Hmmm?”

“… What would you say if I asked you to suck me off?”

Everything in Thorin froze as he turned wide eyes to the half-closed bedroom door. He was certain he must have misheard. After all, it wasn’t the most commonplace question to have yelled at you on a Tuesday evening. Equally, there remained the fact that although Bilbo frequently went down on Thorin during their love-making, he had never before returned the favour. He knew Bilbo had some issues where that was concerned and he had always been gently turned down whenever he offered such services. Now, however, he suspected something may have changed… and this was probably why his heart was suddenly beating very quickly inside his chest.

Staggering to his feet, Thorin crept over to the doorway and slipped back into the living room, already feeling a little light-headed. “W-what… did you say, sweetheart?”

Bilbo was still sitting at the table, but he had turned himself towards the bedroom when Thorin appeared. “I was just wondering what you would say if I asked you to suck me off?” he repeated, with a glint in his green eyes.

Thorin told himself he most definitely didn’t feel a twitch in his trousers as the question was repeated. He stood motionless for a moment, mouth opening and closing, before he managed to stutter out: “… R-right now?”

“Whenever is convenient,” Bilbo replied, with a deceptively mild smile as his knees shifted apart slightly.

Letting out a controlled breath, Thorin told himself to remain calm, even if his body – well, a _certain part_ of his body – was having other ideas. He knew this wasn’t something Bilbo would joke about, that he was being deadly serious, and now Thorin was determined for them to do this right.

“Please will you come into the bedroom?” he murmured, holding out his hand in invitation.

Bilbo’s face lit up even further as he rose from his chair. Giving Sting a reassuring pat with a gentle command to stay put, he came to join Thorin in the doorway. Dain already seemed to sense what was unfolding and so he took himself out of the room to Sting’s side with minimal prompting.

The door closed behind them, Thorin carefully ran his hands up and down Bilbo’s arms. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Yes, please,” Bilbo said softly, a beautiful blush appearing in his cheeks.

Thorin nodded, giving a little cough. The last time he’d done this had been about three years ago and he couldn’t help but feel horribly out of practice. It also didn’t help that his boyfriend was so ridiculously good at it.

“I… It’s been a while since I’ve…” he trailed off, feeling like an awkward teenager.

Bilbo fanned his fingers out at Thorin’s waist. “You don’t need to give me a disclaimer, love… All that matters to me is that it’s you.”

Knowing the words were sincere, Thorin did feel better, and his heart was continuing its manic thumping for a very different reason now, with Bilbo pressing closer to him and the anticipation of what they were about to do making a coil tighten in his gut in a rather pleasant way. “Would you like us to get undressed?” he asked quietly.

“Actually… I’d quite like to keep Captain Oakenshield for this,” Bilbo grinned, reaching around to pat Thorin’s bum.

Thorin realised he should have seen this one coming: it was a clear motive for Bilbo calling out the question before he could get changed into his sweats.

“Sit down on the bed for me,” he said, guiding Bilbo to the spot he had occupied only minutes ago. His beret was still there, waiting for them.

Thorin lowered himself down onto the carpet and shuffled in between Bilbo’s knees, feeling their warmth pressing in either side of his waist. His hands settled on Bilbo’s thighs and now that their lips were almost level, it was easy for him to be pulled into a kiss. Bilbo’s hands cupped his face, thumbs scratching at his beard before going for his ears, and he moaned softly into Bilbo’s mouth.

After a few blissful minutes of snogging, Thorin carefully pulled away, squeezing Bilbo’s thighs as he pressed their foreheads together. They were already panting as hands slipped down to Thorin’s neck, fingers pushing under his sweaty collar. Thorin nuzzled at Bilbo’s neck with a few hot kisses, before his hands crept up and popped the top button of his shirt collar.

“Thorin…” Bilbo said breathlessly. “You really don’t need to…”

“Shhh,” Thorin soothed, beginning to work his way down the buttons. “Let me make this good for you.”

Bilbo’s hand moved to the back of Thorin’s neck. “Okay.”

Thorin had no intention of letting his boyfriend’s first blowjob in six years be over and done with in a matter of minutes. He was going to draw this out and make sure he gave Bilbo as much pleasure as possible. Unfastening the final button, he slid his hands over Bilbo’s stomach and around his waist, the movements making the shirt slowly fall open. There was a soft sound as Bilbo’s head fell back and his eyes fluttered closed.

Edging closer, knees at the bed, Thorin kissed Bilbo’s exposed collarbone and licked into the hollow of his throat. He lightly nipped at his neck again, then sucked at the pale skin of his shoulder. He could feel Bilbo’s chest rising and falling with each of his breaths, which were growing more ragged with each touch, and Thorin bobbed his head with the rhythm. His tongue traced the thin scars over Bilbo’s heart, his beard rubbing over the skin in a way that seemed to make his breathing catch. Bilbo’s hands slipped over Thorin’s neck and his back, pulling him closer, holding him as he whined.

Thorin’s hands settled at Bilbo’s waist again, fingers creeping beneath his shirt to tease soft, bare skin, and then he dipped his head so that he could take a nipple into his mouth. Bilbo let out a gasp and, as Thorin began to suck, he reached out and curled his hand around the beret to his right. Trying not to smile at the beautiful sounds his boyfriend was currently making, Thorin continued to tickle the tightening nub with his tongue, before switching to flatter, lapping strokes. He lifted his thumb to its twin and began rubbing, interspersed with a few pinches.

“God, Thorin… that feels so good,” Bilbo groaned out, deciding he was finally capable of speech. “I’ve never been so hard in my life…”

Thorin chuckled as he released the nipple and switched to the other, mirroring his movements with his lips and his thumb. The definite bulge in Bilbo’s chinos certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Thorin was in a similar predicament, but still all of his attention was focused on making sure Bilbo enjoyed this.

It was when Thorin decided to graze his teeth over a nipple that Bilbo wheezed out: “Th-Thorin… I won’t last much longer… Please…”

Thorin found he quite liked just how wrecked Bilbo sounded and the final plea sent a thunderbolt crashing down between his legs. “Alright, love…” He looked up, chin resting on Bilbo’s stomach, and the gaze that met his was half-lidded and misty, with pupils blown wide.

“Can I… touch your hair… your scar, whilst you’re, er, down there?” Bilbo whispered, fingers skating over Thorin’s jaw.

“Of course,” Thorin smiled, heart hammering at his ribs. “You still want this?”

“Desperate for it,” Bilbo replied, sounding almost drugged. “And about to become very impatient.”

Thorin snorted, toying with the idea of returning to Bilbo’s nipples, but then decided not to be cruel. Besides, he was just as eager, so it wouldn’t do to make both of them miserable. “You’ll tell me? If you need me to stop?”

“Yes, I promise I will.”

“Okay.” With this reassurance, Thorin wriggled back so that he didn’t have to bend to kiss the spot just above Bilbo’s navel. He ran his hands over the curves of his belly and nudged his nose into the warm skin.

“ _Thorin_ …” Bilbo all-but growled, making him hold back a snigger.

With steadier hands than he was expecting, Thorin freed the button and unzipped his fly. Knowing he would probably receive another growl, he burrowed into Bilbo’s crotch, nosing at the hardness he found concealed behind the thin cloth of his underwear, breathing him in.

He didn’t get a growl, but there was a whine of frustration as Bilbo moaned: “Please, Thorin… I can’t bear it…”

Trying to ignore just how achingly hard those words were making him, Thorin finally reached out and gently pulled Bilbo free of his underwear. His cock was flushed and already brought to full hardness by previous attentions: it was truly a lovely sight. Heartbeat pounding in his ears, Thorin had a surreal moment, almost shocked that he was actually allowed to do this, that all this was actually happening, but Bilbo’s fingers tightening on his shoulder brought him back.

Leaning back in, Thorin pressed a kiss to the tip, making Bilbo shudder. He feathered his lips over the head, before sneaking his tongue out to lap up the glistening bead of precome, and Bilbo gave a low moan. He nosed down the shaft, kissing as he went, breathing everything in, feeling his whole body prickle with electricity as Bilbo let out hisses and gasps and groans which turned into his name.

It was with a thigh shivering beneath one of his hands that Thorin gave up his teasing and took Bilbo into his mouth. There was a high, keening sound as hands moved into Thorin’s hair. He didn’t mind the brush of fingers against his scar, completely distracted as he was with finally having his lips around Bilbo’s cock, which he swallowed down, nose pressing into light brown curls, before he began a steady bobbing motion.

As it turned out, sucking someone off was like riding a bike, and Thorin found he simply knew what to do. There was something instinctual about it, and he didn’t panic or waver as he began sucking Bilbo in earnest, zigzagging his tongue along the bottom of the shaft, figuring out which movements led to different moans.

“Thorin…” Bilbo breathed, fingers pinching at his ears. “Thorin… I can’t… can’t last much longer…”

Thorin wasn’t surprised that Bilbo wasn’t going to be able to last very long this time: he certainly hadn’t when Bilbo had first gone down on him, and it was rather his fault that he’d got his boyfriend worked up into such a state before even getting his mouth down there.

Giving Bilbo’s thigh a squeeze of reassurance, Thorin doubled his efforts, using his free hand to give his balls a good fondle, increasing his pace and pressing firmer with his tongue.

“Thorin… God, I… I’m going to come… Please, just… just don’t stop…”

Anything else Bilbo meant to say was lost in another louder moan and Thorin didn’t stop, loving the feel of his forehead pushing into Bilbo’s belly, of Bilbo’s balls tightening beneath his fingers, and Bilbo’s cock sliding over his tongue.

“I… I’m going to –”

Bilbo came with a cry, hunched over with his hands in Thorin’s hair, and Thorin could feel his whole body shaking with the force of it. He swallowed down everything Bilbo gave him and only released his cock when weak hands batted him away. He tilted his head, resting his cheek against Bilbo’s thigh and looked up at him with a dreamy expression, panting heavily.

It took Bilbo a few moments to recover, and he was still looking a little wide-eyed as he lifted a thumb to Thorin’s bottom lip, wiping away a glittering trail of saliva. He pulled the thumb away before Thorin could take it into his mouth, which Thorin was definitely intent on doing.

“Are you alright?” Thorin asked, rubbing his hands over Bilbo’s legs, which were still twitching.

“Wow…” Bilbo whispered, before collapsing back onto his elbows.

Thorin smiled at that, lifting himself from the floor. Ignoring the twinge in his knees, he crawled onto the bed at Bilbo’s side. Bilbo now appeared to have lost all strength in his body and was lying on his back, arms limp at his sides. Thorin lay a hand against his chest and stroked it in soothing circles over the sweaty skin.

“Did… did you enjoy that…?” Thorin murmured, clearing his throat, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Bilbo reached for Thorin’s hand on his chest and laced their fingers together. He turned his head towards him with a smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t give me a nosebleed, love… It was amazing.”

Thorin actually felt himself blush. “I said I wanted to make it good for you.”

“And you did,” Bilbo said warmly, dipping his chin to kiss his knuckles. “But did you enjoy it too? There’s no point us doing something we don’t both enjoy.”

Thorin rolled onto his side. “Of course I enjoyed it… I, er, I enjoyed it a lot.”

Bilbo grinned at that, and then his hand was wandering across the bed until it came to rest over the bulge in Thorin’s trousers. “I can see that.”

Thorin couldn’t help but close his eyes, savouring the warmth of Bilbo’s hand, unable to resist pushing into it.

“Well, if you give me five minutes, there are several ways I would like to say ‘thank you’.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Several?”

Bilbo continued grinning. “Oh yes.”

 

…

 

**_April, 2016_ **

****

Feeling another shiver run down his arms, Thorin cursed himself for not thinking to bring his dressing gown into the bathroom with him. He was sitting on the closed toilet lid in nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts, tapping his hands on his knees and trying to ignore the cold that was pimpling his skin. His gaze returned, once again, to the closed bathroom door. He’d stopped trying to figure out what Bilbo was doing by interpreting the shuffling and odd scratching sounds that were coming from their bedroom.

He knew he shouldn’t be feeling so nervous: after all, the whole thing was his idea. A few weeks ago, he’d plucked up the courage during their foreplay to ask Bilbo if they could try switching positions for the first time. Bilbo had been more than happy to oblige… but then Thorin had freaked out and locked himself in the bathroom before they’d gotten very far. Agreeing to be sensible about this, they had arranged a joint-appointment with Dr. Cox and talked through Thorin’s apprehension surrounding the reversal of their roles in the bedroom.

Thorin had not locked himself in the bathroom this time, but was, instead, waiting for Bilbo ‘to get things ready’. He wasn’t exactly sure what the younger man had in mind, but it was meant to be ‘a nice surprise’. Dr. Cox had suggested they take things slowly, one step at a time, and so Thorin knew that tonight wasn’t about anything penetrative, more about him seeing what sex could be like when his partner had prepared him properly, unlike his previous encounters. Thorin trusted Bilbo completely with this task and, just visible beneath the surface panic, were deeper, giddier feelings of excitement… and of curiosity. He wanted to know what Bilbo felt when they made love and he knew Bilbo was eager for him to enjoy bottoming just as much as he did.

Lifting his feet from the cool tiles, Thorin swallowed to try and relieve the dryness in his throat. His fingers twitched for Dain, but the Labrador was already curled up with Sting in the living room. He took to fidgeting with a piece of toilet paper on the stand next to him, wishing the bathroom wasn’t starting to feel like a holding cell, and reminding himself that whatever Bilbo was planning, he wasn’t going to his death.

It was at that moment that the door creaked open and Bilbo appeared, clad only in a pair of rather tight blue boxers. He smiled as he held out a hand. “Sorry that took so long, love… How are we doing?”

“Cold,” Thorin admitted, and Bilbo’s face fell. “But not that cold… I’m fine.”

“Still, we should probably get you warmed up,” Bilbo replied, in a way that told Thorin this was most definitely a euphemism.

He took Bilbo’s hand and followed him back into the bedroom… and stopped. The room was filled with a dark, golden glow from a myriad of mismatched candles that were flickering in every corner. There was also a string of winking fairy lights which Bilbo had hung across the top of the bed. The bed itself had been stripped and changed, and now there were thick, soft towels laid out over the sheets. A faint smell of lavender and peppermint hung in the air, and Thorin took in the scene with nothing short of wonder written across his expression.

“Is it too much?” Bilbo sounded worried. “If it’s too much, I can…”

“It looks lovely, Bilbo,” Thorin said, smiling and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you… for getting all this ready.”

“I thought whale music might be overkill,” Bilbo said, and they both laughed. He waited a moment before asking: “Please will you lie down on the bed?”

Thorin nodded and moved over to their bed, lying back against the towels, his head on the pillow.

Bilbo came to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “On your stomach, sweetheart,” he prompted gently.

Realising his mistake, Thorin felt a little colour flood his cheeks, but he knew Bilbo would only find it all very endearing. He rolled over, trying not to disturb the towels, but wasn’t quite sure what to do with his arms.

“You could fold your arms under your head or just have them down by your sides,” Bilbo said, obviously sensing his dilemma. “Whatever is most comfortable for you.”

Thorin tried crossing his arms beneath his head, but then decided having them simply straight against his body was easier and less likely to result in aching muscles. He turned his head to the side, looking up at Bilbo with one eye.

Bilbo lowered himself into a crouch, hand resting on the top of Thorin’s arm. “I thought I’d give you a massage first, just to help you relax… How does that sound?”

Thorin smiled. “Good.”

“And it’s okay if I use oils?”

“That’s fine.”

With this confirmation, Bilbo rose to his feet and moved around the bed. Thorin decided not to turn his head, but felt the mattress dip as Bilbo got settled at his other side. There was a rattle of bottles being unscrewed and then the slick sound of oil being rubbed between warm palms.

“I hope this isn’t too cold,” Bilbo said softly.

There was a moment’s pause, and then Thorin felt hands flatten against his shoulder blades. His eyes fell closed and he let out a steady breath as Bilbo began to run his hands over his shoulders, his back, his arms, massaging the oil into his skin. He began to feel drowsy very quickly as Bilbo kneaded at his muscles, nothing too firm, just warm and soothing, and he idly wondered where his boyfriend had been hiding this particular talent.

Thorin had been aware of the tightness in his chest and his stomach, of the tension in his shoulders, but the feelings of panic and apprehension slowly melted away beneath Bilbo’s expert ministrations. He sighed as hands swept over his skin in rhythmic, purposeful patterns, never lingering too long in one place, making his whole body tingle.

“You’re actually purring, you know,” Bilbo said, and the smile could be heard in his voice.

“Sorry,” Thorin mumbled.

“No, it’s nice.”

Bilbo paused to pour more oil into his hands and then continued to push his fingers into the small of his back, before trailing them up his spine to his shoulders.

“Would you mind if I straddled your back, just so I can get to your shoulders and your neck properly?”

At the start of the massage, this question might have made Thorin freeze up, but now he was far too sleepy and docile to care. “S’alright.”

For a moment nothing happened, then Bilbo shifted and brought his leg over Thorin’s back, knees pressing into the bed either side of his hips. Thorin thought he was going to sit down, but no extra weight arrived, and then Bilbo’s hands were at his shoulders again. He applied a feather-light pressure at first, almost tickling the skin in a way that made Thorin’s stomach jump, but then he returned to more familiar stokes, massaging the shoulder muscles, moving up to his neck, then down to his arms.

Thorin was almost half-asleep by the time Bilbo leaned over him and kissed his shoulder. “How are you feeling, love?”

“Good,” Thorin hummed, keeping his eyes closed.

“Glad to hear it,” Bilbo replied, kissing the back of his neck. “Would you like me to massage your bum?”

Thorin thought for a moment, feeling heady and sluggish. He knew their evening was going to be taking this turn eventually, and although some anxiety did slink back behind his ribs, he also felt the excitement building inside his stomach, sending tingling feelings shooting through his body. “… Okay.”

“Boxers on or off?” Bilbo asked quietly.

“Off,” Thorin answered, without hesitation, and he heard Bilbo chuckle.

“Would you like me to take mine off as well?”

“Yes.”

Fingers curled over the waistband of his shorts, and Thorin automatically lifted up so Bilbo could pull them down his legs. After a moment, the bed shifted as Bilbo stood up, and Thorin couldn’t help but peek as he slipped out of his boxers. He was half-hard already and it was with a hazy jolt that Thorin made the delayed realisation that he was in a similarly aroused state. They had agreed to wear underwear to start off with, as recommended by Dr. Cox, so that Thorin had a sense of security and he could make the decision as to when their explorations took a more sexual turn.

Thorin watched as Bilbo returned to the bed, straddling the tops of his legs this time so he could reach down and give his bum a proper squeeze. Thorin let out a long sigh, smiling into the pillow.

“Does that feel good?” Bilbo whispered, massaging both his cheeks with simultaneous movements.

“Yes…” came Thorin’s reply, the one syllable sounding slurred.

“You know, I love your bum,” Bilbo said slyly. “I’m glad it’s getting some attention tonight.”

“It’s not… as nice as yours.”

“Very kind of you to say, but we might have to agree to disagree on that one.”

Thorin made a soft noise that said he wasn’t going to argue and he closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of Bilbo’s hands cupping his cheeks, moulding palms to their shape, and thumbs pressing into the muscles there, as well as kneading the tops of his legs and his hips.

A breath caught in Thorin’s throat the first time he felt Bilbo’s lips against the bottom of his back and he went very still.

“Is it alright if I kiss you down here?”

The question made Thorin shudder in a very pleasant way. “…Yes.”

Unable to resist looking, Thorin lifted his head and turned to see Bilbo’s hands on his thighs, his mouth returning to his back, and that sight alone sent sparks straight between his legs. Thorin’s head collapsed back onto the pillow as Bilbo began to kiss his arse, and he let out a low groan as the kisses turned into licks and gentle sucking sensations, hands still massaging his thighs.

It was then that Thorin felt Bilbo’s thumb slip between his cheeks. “Can I kiss you here?”

Thorin swallowed, heart travelling into his throat. “You… you want to?”

“More than anything.”

“…Okay.”

Bilbo slowly straightened up. “It’ll be easier if I prop you up with a few pillows,” he explained, and already two fluffed pillows had appeared on the bed, as if from nowhere. “Just lift up for me, love, onto your knees.”

Thorin obeyed without question, letting Bilbo arrange him, and then hands were massaging him again, lips trailing a few kisses over his back. After a few moments, Thorin felt his cheeks being carefully parted and hot breaths ghosting against his skin, making him shiver.

“It’s just my mouth and my tongue this time… And you can tell me at any point if you’d like us to stop.”

Thorin could only manage a mumbled response, but Bilbo obviously knew permission had been given as, a second later, there was the swipe of a tongue over his entrance. Thorin’s eyes opened, the coil in his stomach tightening… that felt _very_ good. Bilbo continued to lap at him with wide, flat strokes, and Thorin felt completely new sensations tickling down his legs and into his stomach. Nothing he’d done with other partners had ever felt like _this_ before. He moaned softly as Bilbo teased him, his hardening cock trapped beneath him, pressing into the pillows.

It was when Bilbo’s tongue began prodding and probing at the furl of muscle that Thorin let out a cry, hands moving to grab at the bedsheets. Taking this as a good sign, Bilbo only doubled his efforts, flicking his tongue and licking his way inside, and Thorin could feel his eyes rolling back into his head.

“B-Bilbo…” he gasped, both trying to move away from that talented tongue and push back into it. “I… It’s… I need…”

Thorin turned his head as Bilbo pulled away, lips red and glistening, and he reached up to take one of Thorin’s hands. “What do you need, sweetheart? You can tell me.”

“I…” Thorin felt the heat blazing up his neck, darkening his blush. “Fingers… your fingers… will you…?”

Thorin was used to being ineloquent, although it was usually for another reason than desperately wanting your boyfriend to shove his fingers up your bum. Still, the message had clearly been relayed, and Bilbo sat back on his heels.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Are you comfortable like this?”

Thorin nodded, watching Bilbo through half-lidded eyes, not sure he ever wanted to move again.

“I’ll just get myself sorted.” Bilbo reached for the basket that had held the massage oils and collected a familiar bottle of lube. “I’m going to dribble a little on you first, okay?”

Thorin nodded, twitching when he felt the wet trickle between his cheeks. Bilbo gave his fingers a generous coating and then he was leaning down and kissing the small of Thorin’s back.

“You’re doing so well tonight,” he said, voice hushed. “And you look so beautiful like this…”

Thorin dropped his head back onto the pillow just as he felt the first fingertip pressing against his entrance. It stroked and stroked, teasing the muscle, and then Thorin sucked in a breath as it pushed its way inside.

“You just stay lovely and relaxed for me,” Bilbo crooned. “We’re going to take this nice and slowly.”

The sensations weren’t unpleasant, just a little odd, and Thorin waited, able to feel nothing at all except the gentle prodding of Bilbo’s finger.

“You need to keep breathing, Thorin,” Bilbo urged, sensing he might need a reminder. “Just relax your muscles a little more.”

Thorin exhaled a gust of air, now realising just how much he had been holding in. It definitely felt better when he wasn’t so tense… and then Bilbo slowly slid his finger all the way in and Thorin gasped.

“There we go.” Bilbo sounded pleased with himself, and Thorin thought he had a right to be. “Just going to start moving my finger now… Keep breathing, love, you’re doing beautifully.”

Thorin’s hands found the bedsheets again as Bilbo drew his finger almost all the way out, before slipping it back inside him, and his aching cock started throbbing against the pillows. Bilbo then began to pump the finger in and out and Thorin groaned, seeing stars behind closed eyes. He was very quickly starting to understand why Bilbo enjoyed this so much.

“Are you ready for another finger?” came the next, almost casual question.

“Please…” Thorin breathed, unable to stop his bum twitching upwards as he spoke.

The second finger was easier than the first, and the burning, stretching sensations soon gave way to pleasure that Thorin didn’t even think was possible. It wasn’t long before a third finger was added and he was unable to keep still, panting desperately as Bilbo opened him up, and he was sure his cock was leaking into the pillows. Bilbo continued to stroke his back and his thighs with his free hand, leaning down to kiss and sooth him, praising him and helping him stay relaxed.

Having done this so many times with Bilbo, Thorin knew he shouldn’t have been surprised by what happened next, but still he gave a shout, eyes rolling into his head again, when Bilbo crooked his fingers and hit the spot inside him that he’d almost forgotten existed.

“Fuck!” Thorin growled, grinding into the pillows, his poor neglected cock desperate for the friction.

“Bet you didn’t know it could feel like that,” Bilbo grinned… before doing it again.

“Bilbo…” Thorin choked out, almost tearing at the sheets. “I… I need to come… please…”

“Shhh… Okay, sweetheart, okay…” Bilbo was rubbing a hand over his back. “You’re almost there… Just keep breathing…”

Thorin was about to start humping the pillows when suddenly a hand was reaching round, sliding its way beneath his stomach. Bilbo wrapped his fingers around Thorin’s weeping cock and then began pumping him in time with the movements of his fingers, which were still slamming into that sweet spot and making Thorin see stars.

Letting out a whimper, Thorin felt the pleasure rioting through his body, threatening to overwhelm him. His nerves were crackling, burning up, with the clash of sensations, and his skin prickled with every touch. He was sure it was all going to be too much, too much to bear, but then –

“Come for me, Thorin…”

Thorin came harder than he ever had done in his life and for a moment he thought he might pass out. He couldn’t actually remember Bilbo’s hands leaving him and for a moment he was alone, his body nothing but fizzling static, but then the hands returned, stroking down his back, accompanied by gentle shushing sounds.

“There we are.” A kiss fell against his shoulder blade.

It took a long time to muster the energy, but finally Thorin managed to turn his head so that he could see Bilbo sitting on the bed at his side. He looked up at him with a slightly dazed expression and Bilbo stroked a hand over the back of his head.

“How are you feeling? Any soreness?”

Thorin tried to form words, but what came out instead was ‘ungh’. Bilbo gave a soft laugh, settling onto his side, lying parallel to him on the bed. He ran his fingers over Thorin’s back and his arm, slowly helping him come round, keeping him anchored to the moment.

Eventually, Thorin stirred, wrapping one arm around Bilbo and pulling him into his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered, not sure he was up to full sentences just yet, but hoping Bilbo knew what he really wanted to say.

Bilbo gave a hum. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“You knew I would.”

Bilbo had a glint in his eye again.

“What?”

“Well, if you enjoyed everything we did tonight, imagine what it’s going to feel like when I fuck you into the mattress.”

Thorin told himself his cock didn’t give a valiant twitch at the thought. “Have you got anything on tomorrow night?”

“There’s an exhibition opening at the City Museum… But I think I might have just received a better offer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I… have nothing at all to say for myself. A big thank you to vtforpedro and the folks over at the Bagginshield Discord for helping me with some massage-related vocab! 
> 
> I also want to give a big shout-out to the wonderful, wonderful Shipsicle who has drawn another beautiful piece of fanart for my Star Wars AU, ‘and sow a star divided in us’, which can be found at: 
> 
> shipsicle.tumblr.com/post/169883167188
> 
> And speaking of ‘sow a star’, I’m pleased to announce that there is a sequel in the works which should be posted at some point next month :D 
> 
> Now, as for the Obstacles!verse… just one more chapter left, guys! I’m afraid I’m not sure when I’ll be posting the final update in this saga as I imagine I’ll procrastinate over finishing this series, knowing this is its time to end, but also being quite reluctant to let it go. So please bear with me as I battle with some existential angst, but know that Chapter 14 will be on its way to you as soon as I’m ready.


	14. April, 2056

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Well, here we are, at journey’s end. After almost four years, I am now finally bringing the Obstacles!verse to a close. I’ve decided to set and post this chapter in April, the month Thorin and Bilbo first met at Ered Luin, because I never could resist a bit of sentiment and symbolism ;) There is a much longer (and emotional!) author’s note at the end of this chapter, but for now, I sincerely hope you enjoy this last update as you join Thorin and Bilbo in their garden.

**The Obstacles!Verse**

_22 nd July, 2014 – 28th April, 2018_

 

The daffodils were out in force this year. They had started bursting through the soil around mid-March and now the flowerbeds were filled with battalions of golden trumpets, their buttery petals fluttering in the light spring breeze. Three out of four sides of the little square garden were now sunny with daffodils, which stood to attention from the edge of the recently mowed lawn, right back to the craggy drystone walls. Their ranks, however, would be dwindling today as Bilbo made strategic moves around the garden and plucked the daffodils from the dark soil, binding them together and placing them in buckets, ready for Reverend Puddifoot’s Mothering Sunday service at St George’s Church. The vicar who had married them was now in her eighties, but still going strong and drawing in quite a crowd at the Leeds parish, and Bilbo had been more than happy to offer the fruits of their garden for her service. It also meant that he could get to work sowing and planting the seeds for sunflowers, marigolds, and petunias in time for them to bloom that summer.

Thorin was sitting on the wooden bench by the back door, walking stick leaning against the bench’s arm. He had refused his husband’s attempts at setting the thick, dark blue blanket over his lap, insisting it made him feel like an invalid. He had, however, allowed Bilbo a few more moments of fussing before he shooed him away to tend to the daffodils. Recovering from a nasty bout of flu had made him fairly miserable and crotchety, if only because it was the first time in a while that he had really felt age catching up with him.

Even last month’s birthday celebrations hadn’t really made him feel that old, despite the amount of balloons, banners, and even confetti that had been plastered with the number ‘80’. The party was supposed to be a surprise, of course, but after living with Bilbo for four decades, Thorin had become quite good at figuring such things out. Still, he had been positively giddy at being surrounded by their very large family for almost a week. Travel had been easier for Drogo, Prim, and Frodo and his family as Bilbo’s cousins had relocated from New Zealand some time ago. They were now living in Somerset in the South-West of England, but Thorin wasn’t going to hold that against them. The Gamgee clan had also been able to join them from Bristol, and so the festivities had continued for some time. And then a touch of spring flu had got to his chest and he and Bilbo had had to discuss him slowing down with his volunteering activities. He had been retired from the Forces for almost twenty years, but still enjoyed helping out with various charities in the West Yorkshire area.

Miserable and crotchety he might be, but the sight of Bilbo kneeling by the flowerbeds, trowel in hand and talking to himself, was still enough to raise a rather soppy smile. His curly silver hair kept falling into his eyes as he moved and his spectacles, glinting in the late morning light, slid down his nose as he leant forward. Bilbo was still coming around to the idea of laser correction, being quite fond of his eclectic collection of glasses cases, but Thorin had had his done years ago, mainly so he could see his husband and his many nieces and nephews clearly, with his own two eyes. Equally, he suspected Bilbo secretly liked the distinguished, rather old school appearance created by still wearing spectacles – especially where his students were concerned. Professor Bilbo Baggins was quite the living legend at the University of Leeds. At seventy-four years old, he was still lecturing and teaching part-time and it wasn’t unusual for him to meet the children of former students at his tutorials.

Thorin reached up to scratch pensively at his silvery-white beard, wiggling his toes inside his slippers, and the movement woke Ruby, their yellow Labrador, from her dose at his feet. She blinked up at him with sleepy eyes and Thorin leaned down to scratch behind her ears, cooing softly at her. It had taken him and Bilbo a good twenty years to get another dog after they lost Sting, and then Dain. Their two trusted companions, who had been with them through so much, were laid to rest beneath the flowerbeds in their garden. Thorin liked to think that Dain was in the snowdrops that poked through the earth to herald the coming of spring, that Dain was there when their little Eden was in full bloom, and when the chrysanthemums appeared in the autumn. Even when their garden was bare in the winter, he knew Dain was helping those seeds and bulbs, buried deep in the soil, along so that the cycle of rebirth could begin all over again. And now he was certain that both Dain and Sting were in the parade of yellow daffodils that were soon to be handed out to the congregation of St George’s Church.

As if sensing the niggling ache in his back, Ruby pulled herself up with a yawn and shuffled in between Thorin’s legs, resting her head on his knee so that he could scratch her ears without leaning down. Thorin had to chuckle at that, although he wasn’t surprised by the Labrador’s intuition. He stroked his thumbs over her silky ears as Ruby affectionately snuffled at the backs of his speckled hands, licking over the platinum wedding band on his finger. It was almost thirty-six years to the day that he and Bilbo had exchanged rings in a beautiful ceremony at Tuckborough Castle, although sometimes it felt like only yesterday that he was walking down the aisle in the Old Dining Room. And this thought reminded him that Dis and David’s thirtieth wedding anniversary was coming up and he and Bilbo needed to RSVP to the celebratory meal.

A musical chime drew Thorin from his thoughts and a glance to the right confirmed that a notification had popped up on the slim tablet sitting on the bench beside him. The little camera icon indicated that someone had sent them a photograph and so he collected the device and held it in his lap. He tapped the icon and then a picture of Fili and Heather filled the screen. The world’s most glamourous grandmothers had taken early retirement and were currently travelling around southeast Asia. Swiping at the photo, a little text box with details popped up, confirming that Fili and Heather were currently in Thailand and the local time was six o’ clock in the evening. They were sitting on a beach-side terrace with a beautiful orange sky spread out behind them, a calm, hazy sea just visible in the distance.

“Are Fili and Heather trying to make us jealous?”

Thorin almost dropped the tablet as Bilbo suddenly appeared in front of him. After all these years, his husband was still unnervingly light-footed.

Bilbo was now looking down at him with a frown of disapproval. “Thorin, did you turn off your hearing implant again?”

“What?” Thorin asked, grinning at his own joke.

Bilbo only rolled his eyes, clearly waiting for an explanation.

“I can hear the sheep bleating in the fields three miles away,” Thorin grumbled, trying and failing not to sound like he was throwing a sulk. “It’s annoying.”

“I know, sweetheart, but you’ll want to be able to hear Charlie and Kate when they arrive,” Bilbo said, pressing a soothing kiss to Thorin’s forehead whilst he discreetly reached behind his ear and flicked the implant back on.

“Jess is dropping them off?” Thorin murmured.

“Helen,” Bilbo corrected gently, squeezing his shoulder.

“Sorry, Helen,” Thorin agreed. He knew it wasn’t unusual for someone to mix up the names of their grandnieces, but he was glad of Bilbo’s non-verbal reassurance all the same. When he had first started forgetting things, like names and dates, and where he’d put the house keys, he and Bilbo had gone straight to their doctor. However, Dr. March had put their minds at rest: this wasn’t Alzheimer’s, just one of the little foibles of getting old.

The tablet pinged again and this time the calendar icon appeared. Thorin tapped it and a reminder popped up, showing the event information for Kili’s award ceremony. After dedicating thirty years to working with disadvantaged children in inner city Leeds – a project which led him to meet his wife of twenty years – Kili was being honoured with an award presented by the city’s Lord Mayor.

“I’ll be well enough to go,” Thorin said firmly, looking at Bilbo with quite the fierceness in his blue eyes.

Bilbo returned a look of amusement. “I know, love. I’m not sure what makes you think I’m going to try and stop you.”

“Your fussing,” Thorin replied, although the irritation in his tone was very much half-hearted.

“And I shall be fussing over you at the Town Hall, but I’m not going to keep you under house arrest… Besides, something tells me you’d find a way to escape.”

Thorin laughed at that. “That’s your bad influence.”

Bilbo brushed his hand over Thorin’s with a hum. “Imagine the headlines… Daring pensioner does a runner from rural home to attend nephew’s awards evening.”

Any witty retort Thorin might have offered was silenced when the doorbell icon appeared on the tablet, along with a vintage chime. It was Bilbo who reached out and swiped the icon to the left so that Helen’s face materialised on the screen.

“Hello!” she smiled, and two-year-old Charlie, balanced on her hip, waved a chubby hand.

“Hi, Uncle Thorin! Hi, Uncle Bilbo!” Eight-year-old Kate was bouncing up and down so that her face would appear on the screen.

“Hello! I’ll be right with you!” Bilbo grinned, putting a hand on Thorin’s shoulder which, although done with affection, was a clear warning to stay put.

Thorin groused a little, but made no effort to move from the bench, watching as Bilbo disappeared inside the cottage.

 

Bilbo made his way through the living room to the front door, stopping only to move a few rogue paint brushes onto a higher surface, knowing they might otherwise find their way into Charlie’s mouth. Their redecorating project had ground to a bit of a halt when Thorin had fallen ill, but Bilbo was sure they could pick things up again soon enough. The cottage had been their home now for thirty-seven years and had been through various stages of renovation and refurbishment. He and Thorin had considered moving from time to time, but then both of them had been so used to not having a permanent home, whether it be Thorin’s dingy rented flat in Berlin or Bilbo’s various foster homes, followed by stints in hospital rooms, that in the end they had been quite content to settle in this little stone house in the countryside. It was nice to have somewhere that was theirs, and nobody else’s, and nothing could truly describe their long-held happiness at being able to share such a home with each other.

Reaching the front door, Bilbo opened it to another cheerful chorus of greetings and he stepped back to let his family inside.

“Hi, Uncle Bilbo!” Kate immediately wrapped her arms around his waist, pushing her nose into his cardigan.

“Hello, love,” Bilbo grinned, doing his best to return his great grandniece’s crushing hug.

“I got the Headteacher’s Award in the Achievement Assembly for my History project!” she announced, beaming up at her uncle as she pulled away.

This was a piece of information she had clearly been dying to tell him and the way she was rocking onto her toes with excitement, blue eyes impossibly bright, brought a fuzziness to Bilbo’s chest. “Amazing! And very well-deserved!”

“I’ve got the certificate and the medal in my bag,” Kate said, indicating the purple backpack hanging over one shoulder. “Can I go and show Uncle Thorin?”

“Of course, sweetheart. He’s out in the garden.”

Kate was off like a shot, her wavy, light blonde hair – which fell almost to her waist – swinging about her as she ran.

“Be gentle please, Kate!” Helen called after her, her daughter answering with a sing-song affirmative as she disappeared. “Thank you so much for this, Uncle Bilbo.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile a little at the fact that, at thirty-one, Helen still called him ‘Uncle Bilbo’. He liked it, of course, and wasn’t afraid to admit that when asked. He had gone from being so very lonely for such a long time to having a large and loving family, something which he never had and never would take for granted. He and Thorin were now the world’s uncles, having no fewer than fifteen grandnieces, grandnephews, great grandnieces and great grandnephews.

“It’s our pleasure, Helen,” Bilbo replied. “You know we’re happy to have Kate and Charlie any time.”

Helen had rung them in a panic that morning. She was due to meet some university friends for a lunch-date but the childminder’s son had been throwing up all night and she had no one to look after Kate and Charlie. Helen was a paediatric nurse at Ered Luin, working on the floor below Ward Seventeen, which had been renamed The Gandalf Grey Ward after the indomitable doctor had passed away fifteen years ago. Bilbo had never been to a more well-attended funeral and he’d noted, during his routine hospital visits, that there were always flowers laid by Dr. Grey’s memorial plaque.

Helen had struggled to see anyone outside of work or family this year and Bilbo knew how much this lunch meant to her. He had clocked the grey shadows under her eyes, the new, shorter haircut which was for easy washing, not style, and the fact that she hadn’t had time to plait Kate’s hair. But then he scolded himself and let the assessing part of his mind slowly retreat. He was doing better at analysing people and places less and less in his old age, but old habits very much did die hard.

“And I know Charlie’s very happy to see Uncle Bo, huh?” Helen bounced the dark-haired toddler on her hip, making him giggle.

“Uncle Bo!” Charlie echoed, before almost lunging at Bilbo with wide arms.

Helen caught him in time with a ‘hey!’, but Charlie only laughed, reaching out his hands again with more insistent noises.

“I can take him,” Bilbo assured her, holding out his hands and letting Helen pass him into his arms. “And how are we today, Charlie Oakenshield?”

“Glasses!” was Charlie’s answer, as one pudgy hand reached up for Bilbo’s spectacles.

“Ah, ah, ah, Uncle Bilbo needs those so he can see you,” Bilbo said, gently guiding his hand away.

“Charlie,” Helen said, with a scowl. “That wasn’t very nice, was it?”

Charlie looked up at Bilbo with large, brown eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and he certainly did look very sorry.

“Apology accepted.” Bilbo gave him a squeeze and tweaked his nose, eliciting a squeal of delight.

“I’ve brought his changing bag,” Helen said, slipping the strap from her shoulder. “Everything you need’s in here – and some teething rings too if he gets grouchy – but I’ve just changed him, so hopefully you won’t need to.”

“I promise I don’t mind a few dirty nappies.” Bilbo gave Helen a wry smile. “It doesn’t seem very long since I was changing you and your sister in our bathroom.”

Helen looked, quite wistfully, over at the door to the downstairs bathroom. “Still, I’ll only be gone for a couple of hours – I’ll make sure I’m back by half two.”

Bilbo put a hand on her shoulder. “I want you to take as long as you need and make sure you enjoy yourself. If you want to do a spot of shopping afterwards, that’s absolutely fine by us.”

“Thanks, Uncle Bilbo,” Helen said, looking a little relieved, before she glanced out towards the garden. “How’s Uncle Thorin doing?”

“Much better than last week,” Bilbo said approvingly. “He’s over the worst of it now, just cross with me for keeping him cooped up here whilst the virus runs its course.”

“Do you want me to take a look at him?” Helen asked seriously, noticeably shifting into nurse-mode.

“I think if you try you’ll find him more badly behaved than most of your young patients,” Bilbo said dryly.

Helen smiled. “Understood… But I will just pop out and say hello.”

Bilbo led the way to the back garden with Charlie held securely on his hip, Helen following behind them. They found Kate sitting on the bench next to Thorin, who was holding her shiny Head Teacher’s Award certificate as she explained the different symbols on her medal. Ruby was curled up at Thorin’s feet but lifted her head with a few excited pants as they appeared.

 

“Hello, Uncle Thorin!”

Thorin couldn’t help but smile as his grandniece leaned down to kiss his cheek. Helen looked tired, and he was glad that he and Bilbo were able to give her some obviously much-needed time with her friends.

“Uncle Bilbo says you’re feeling better?” she said, and for a moment Thorin wondered if this was all an elaborate ruse to get him examined by another health professional.

“Much better,” Thorin replied, looking pointedly at his husband. “And looking forward to a trip out tomorrow.”

“I don’t doubt it… Thanks so much for keeping these two entertained for me.”

“I think it’s Kate and Charlie who are going to keep me entertained,” Thorin said, as Kate returned her medal and certificate to her backpack. “Hello, Charlie!”

Charlie gave a giddy wriggle in Bilbo’s arms. “Uncle Four!”

Thorin’s heart gave a little flip every time he heard his nickname. ‘Uncle Four’ and ‘Uncle Bo’ were running jokes in their family – started by Frodo over forty years ago, and now every baby in the Oakenshield-Baggins clan went through a phase of saying ‘Bo’ and ‘Four’ until they were able to manage ‘Bilbo’ and ‘Thorin’. Some, like Helen, had kept the names going for years after they were able to speak fluently and Brian still wrote ‘Uncle Four’ in all his birthday cards.

“Kiss it better!” Charlie said, leaning forward and reaching out to Thorin.

Thorin smiled and tilted his head towards him. A month or so ago, Charlie had been running his fingers through his uncle’s silver hair and noticed the scar that ran across from his left temple. Thorin’s hair was long enough now that it usually covered the scar completely, but since his discovery, Charlie had been adamant on kissing Uncle Thorin’s ‘ouch’ better, obviously hoping that one day the magic of kissing things better would work and it wouldn’t be there at all. Thorin knew that Charlie would grow out of this, that there would come a time when he found out that not all scars could be healed with kisses, but for now he was happy to let his nephew maintain this belief. He felt Charlie’s lips rustle at his hair. “Thank you, Charlie,” he whispered.

“Good boy,” Helen said quietly, taking a moment before she continued. “Right, if you think you’ve got everything…?”

“We’ll be just fine,” Bilbo smiled, shouldering the changing bag. “Now go, have fun!”

“Okay, now you two be good.” Helen moved to kiss Kate on the forehead, then Charlie. “Pleases and thank yous, and listen to your uncles. I’ll be back soon.”

“We will, Mum, promise!” Kate said, looking about ready to push her mum out the door.

Luckily, that wasn’t needed as Helen disappeared back into the cottage, saying she could let herself out and again, that she would be back soon.

“Now, I think we should head back inside: it’s getting a little chilly out here,” Bilbo said, rubbing at Charlie’s arm. “Kate, please will you help your uncle back inside?”

Thorin knew Bilbo was purposefully letting Kate take the lead to avoid any grumpiness. It was impossible to get irritable when his great-grandniece was beaming at him, jumping from the bench and shouldering her backpack. She was clearly taking this responsibility very seriously as she collected his walking stick and guided it into his left hand.

“Is it okay if I pull you up, Uncle Thorin?” Kate asked, holding out her hand.

Thorin was sure he could have managed on his own, but he never could deny his nieces or his nephews anything. “Thank you, Kate,” he said, taking her hand.

With Bilbo standing there to supervise, Thorin let Kate help him back onto his feet as he pushed his walking stick into the stone paving. She kept hold of his hand as they moved towards the door, Ruby getting to her feet and trotting along beside them. Kate didn’t let go of his hand until she had settled him onto the sofa and was satisfied that the cushions were correctly arranged for him to be comfortable.

Bilbo had already laid out the playmat in the middle of the room with a collection of toys they kept ready for such visits. He lowered Charlie down onto the mat and knelt down at the edge – Charlie was quick to crawl to him and sit against his legs, reaching for a soft toy frog on his way. Thorin smiled to himself when he heard his nephew call it a ‘fog’, remembering the more colourful word Frodo had used for his toy frog, many years ago now.

“Uncle Bilbo, will we have time to make Mars Bar slice?” Kate asked, as she sat down on the sofa next to Thorin.

“We might not have enough time for it to set, love,” Bilbo replied, handing Charlie the chocolate Labrador Beanie Baby he was reaching for. “But we could make a tray and then I’ll bring it to your house tomorrow.”

“Okay, thanks, Uncle Bilbo.” Kate was now rummaging inside her backpack. “Uncle Thorin, would you like me to read to you?”

“I’d love that,” Thorin grinned. “What books have you brought today?”

Their living room walls were made almost entirely of bookshelves – with a handful of books on them written by Bilbo himself – but Thorin guessed Kate wasn’t quite old enough to be interested in the cultural, political, and economic landscapes of the Allied Nations before the Second World War. Instead, he watched as she pushed her long, blonde hair behind her ears and produced a paperback copy of Michael Morpurgo’s _War Horse_. “It’s called _War Horse_ … It has soldiers in it, like you and Uncle Bilbo used to be, but it’s set in World War One and you weren’t alive then.”

“Your Uncle Thorin might have been,” Bilbo commented from the floor, flashing his husband a teasing smile.

“He’s not _that_ old, Uncle Bilbo!” Kate said indignantly, coming to Thorin’s defence, and her expression was so reminiscent of Fili that he almost did a double-take.

“Thank you, Kate,” he smiled, letting his niece snuggle into him as she opened the book to the chapter that held her bookmark.

“Captain Stewart felt Topthorn’s ears and stroked his soft m- …muzzle… as he always did first thing in a morning…”

As Kate began to read, Thorin couldn’t help but feel himself transported back to his hospital room in Ered Luin, with its posters and photographs, provided by Fili to cover up the white walls. And Kili was there next to him, reading _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ , with Dis stood behind them… and Bilbo lingering in the doorway beyond. Forty-two years had gone by since that moment, but he could still picture it so clearly, as he could most moments in his life since then. There had been more obstacles to overcome, yes, but there had also been so much light and life and love.

Thorin’s eyes slowly moved to the bronzed Ganesh statue sitting on the low windowsill by the front door, one side glinting gold in the sun. And then his gaze came to rest on Bilbo, who was making the toy frog hop over Charlie’s legs. Bilbo seemed to sense he was being watched and so he turned, their eyes meeting.

Thorin offered a soft smile and he looked at Bilbo the way he had done every day since the moment they first met. It was a look that always echoed their wedding vows: it said that they were two broken people, whose jagged edges fit together, that they loved one another even when love was difficult, and that they would continue to love each other, every day, for the rest of their lives and whatever lay beyond.

“Uncle Thorin, what does this word say?” Kate asked, drawing Thorin’s attention back to her as she pointed at the page.

“Meticulous,” Thorin said, pronouncing the word slowly. “It means… er, well, being careful, doing things very precisely.”

Knowing that Bilbo was watching them with a fond smile, Thorin listened as Kate continued to read, speaking of bravery, caring for each other, and of soldiers who, despite everything, were still going to find their way back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the chapter: I decided to leave it fairly ambiguous as to whether Helen and Jess are Fili or Kili's children. I purposefully made Kate and Charlie mirrors of Fili and Kili to add to this ambiguity. I wanted to leave it up to my readers to decide how Fili and Kili start their families, how many children they have, what they look like, who they love, and ultimately to just headcanon away. The Obstacles!verse belongs to you now, I hope this is okay with you all :) 
> 
> In what now seems to be a rather spot of good timing, I’m pleased to reveal that last month I actually met Richard Armitage in Newcastle for the international premiere of his film, ‘Urban and the Shed Crew’. It was one of the most beautifully surreal experiences of my life, and as Richard was adorably shy to begin with, it was the closest I’ll ever get to sharing a room with Obstacles!verse Thorin. Despite being jet-lagged, he was absolutely lovely to everyone and I managed to bag a picture and an autograph. I can also die a happy woman. 
> 
> So much has happened in my life since Summer, 2014, and although not all of it has been good, this series has been a constant source of joy and escapism. I know it may sound cliché, but I’ve learned so much: about myself and about the world around me. 
> 
> There never seems to be a sufficient way to say thank you to all of you, for everything you’ve done for the Obstacles!verse. Your comments, your kudos and bookmarks, your stunning artwork that I have been lucky enough to have drawn for this story, your absolutely invaluable support… All of it has meant the world to me. I want to thank every single one of my readers for never failing to make me smile and giving me a reason to pick myself up and just keep on going. 
> 
> I also want to thank my best friends for providing and checking all the medical knowledge and lingo, and for shaping this story through all the hours-long phone calls we’ve had over the years. My parents continue to be a source of strength for me and I think, one day very soon, I’m going to show them what I’ve really been writing, because I know this is something I should be proud of and something they would like to see. 
> 
> Although the Obstacles!verse is now at an end, I promise that I still have a few more Bagginshield stories up my sleeve. 2018 has been a bit of a rough year for me so far, so I do need to take a break from writing, but the road goes ever on and I’m sure I won’t be away for too long ;) 
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for joining me on this little adventure and I hope you’re ready for another one, whatever that adventure may be <3


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